


Firebird

by MistressOfMalplaquet



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Blackfrost - Freeform, Breathplay, Dubious Consent, Erotic magic, F/F, F/M, Jotun AU, Jotun!Loki, Light BDSM, Prompt Fill, Sex with elves, Sif and Amora are serious badasses, Svaðilfari looks just like Thranduil maybe, dub con, spurting, the importance of kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-01-25 15:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 67,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1654160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfMalplaquet/pseuds/MistressOfMalplaquet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Loki saw Natasha in the flames, he knew she was his firebird. Jotun!AU in which Loki grew up as a frost giant on Jotunheim from a prompt by the-coldness-from-within on tumblr; Blackfrost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flames

It started with the flames, a tiny circle of fire in the hearth. One of Helblindi's pets must have been chilled in the bitter ice and stones of the royal towers, and she started a small fire with a set of flints she had smuggled into Jotunheim from Alfheim. Caught by the smell of smoke, Loki stole inside the elf-maiden's room and hid behind her curtain to watch the fire. He ignored her sobs muffled in the furs on the bed, and crept closer to the mantel to look into the heart of the coals.

There he swore he saw a vision, that of a girl unlike any ever seen in all of Jotunheim. Hair waved around her face in curls the same color of the fire, and as he watched, entranced, she flickered just out of reach. The figure of that bright girl made him catch his breath with no reason for it; just seeing her there made him pant and lust more wildly than any of the sex-teachers he had been given up to as a youth, more than the wives of Jotun thanes he had talked into his bed.

The heat from the hearth seared his blue skin, but he ignored the pain. Loki's eyes closed, and he pictured the firebird coming into the Royal Tower, climbing the spiked ladders to his own room and consorting with him. Among his furs she would kiss his skin and taste his tongue until the pleasure set them both on fire...

Those dreams were interrupted when Helblindi himself burst into the room, causing the elf-maiden to gasp and sit upright in the bed. The tears on her high cheekbones glittered in the flames as Loki's brother threw the jug he carried into the mantel; the pot shattered among water and ice hissing over hot coals. The flames were extinguished at once.

The lady elf sank back on her furs, but Helblindi ignored her. Instead he strode to the corner where Loki crouched and dragged him out with his ear in one fist. The prince caught one final image of the lady, frozen with fear and astonishment, before he was pulled out into the hall and the door slammed shut with a kick. "Get out of that!" Helblindi bellowed. "Sniveling runt – were you sniffing around my pet's skirts hoping to get the spoils I leave behind?"

"Skadi knows I should never touch anyone you have already enjoyed – the mere thought makes me want to vomit," Loki retorted.

"Bugger off." Helblindi raised one mighty arm to strike, but without another word his brother twisted away and escaped.

* * *

Thus began Loki's fascination with fire. He stole the set of flints from the elf-maiden and spent several days looking for things to burn: branches he hacked from trees during the spare hours of light, and old furniture claimed from an attic room. There among the discarded weapons and ancient writings he created a small spark with the stones and lit the fire in the ashes of a forgotten fireplace, long since discarded.

Far away Farbauti shouted for Laufey and pounded her spear on the floor of her attic chambers. The floor trembled with the blow as well as the heavy  _thoom, thoom_  of the soldiers marching out of the Tower – they must have been advised of another attempt on the realm. Just beyond the window the wind howled, flying with skirling snow and spatters of ice on the panes.

Loki ignored it all as well as the heat on his skin. Already his heart beat faster, so close to the deadly warmth of the fire. Enough time spent by the heart could cause him to contract sótt from the flames so close to his Jotun flesh.

The elf-maiden expired three days after Loki's discovery of the flames, tears icing on her cheeks in front of an open window. Apparently she had seated herself in front of the icy air rather than submit to Helblindi's embraces any longer. The Jotun prince, bereft of his pet, pounded up the stairs to the attic rooms in search of a different victim. "Loki!" he shouted. "Come here, you mud worm, you sand pox, vile vermin!"

Loki stared into the flames and covered his ears. To help ignore his brother's insults, he concentrated on the memory of the girl in the flames and he thought she might appear if he waited. One of the eldivðr popped, and a shower of sparks cascaded onto the hearth; he tumbled backwards with one arm over his face to protect his blue flesh.

And there she was – the girl in the fire. She seemed to hold something in one hand, an object she studied intently. It looked like a scroll covered with writing; Loki had a few of his own, stolen from Laufey's library, hidden under the flagstones in his room.

Growing careless, Loki peered closer. The vision was so clear, so close! He could see her lips move as she read, and her hands moved together as though to cup something. Her fingers were long and beautiful, her flesh of a sheen like pearls stolen by Laufey from one of his many raids on the realm of Asgard.

He shifted to see more of her, and within the fire the flame-maiden looked up suddenly. Her penetrating glance seemed to see him from the prison of the grate right away, and her eyebrows lifted in inquiry. One corner of her mouth curled as well, in a look that Loki recognized as pure mischief.

"I wish you could hear me," he muttered.

_Hear you,_  the vision whispered back. The sound went right to his prick with a sensation of thunder, of lightning. Loki felt electricity bolted through his body, and his mouth opened in surprise.

The eldivðr shifted, and to his intense disappointment his firebird disappeared. That was how he thought of her now: his firebird.

As if of its own volition his hand crept to his crotch, thrust inside his furs, and found the hardness her look had woken. Loki pretended it was those long, pale fingers as he stroked himself, squeezed the base, manipulated his flesh, swirled the clear drop at the slit to ease his touch as he palmed the tip…

"Loki!"

The shout came from Helblindi. Loki had no desire at all to face his brother and confront another onslaught of insults especially with an erection jutting from his furs; he would never hear the end of it. Hastily he crawled behind one of the large ruins of old furniture in the room to crouch there, shivering with fear and desire.

His elbow knocked against a bump on the wall – an old carving on the lintel of a dragon in full flight. Loki cursed at the pain, but as he did so a section of the stone wall moved to once side with a harsh, grating sound to reveal a dark hole.

Here was the very thing – a hiding place for when Laufey or Helblindi came to drag him by the ear downstairs. There he would be mocked and bullied as usual, not only by the king but also by the toadies and hangers-on who wished to winkle riches from the crown prince's pockets. Life was not easy for a runt among that brutal crowd.

The hole stretched behind him as far as his groping fingers could reach. Once his eyes grew accustomed to the dark Loki was able to see he was actually inside a tunnel, one he had never heard of or seen on any of the maps of Jotunheim and the Tower. He realized he could stand upright, and a breeze on his face told him there was air enough to breathe – at least for the moment.

"Loki! Come do my bidding, whelp! Appear so I might slit your belly!"

_Not a chance._  Bidding a mental farewell to Helblindi, Loki slid the panel shut and tiptoed into the tunnel to be swallowed by the dark.

* * *

"They are scrolls from my mother's room." Carefully Thor smoothed one of the parchments out on the table; Natasha leaned over his shoulder and looked at the writings within the document. "Alas, I never had the inclination for such things when she lived, and now it is too late."

She pressed his arm in sympathy and cautiously pointed to the marks on the page. "These tell of magic?"

"Yes. Queen Frigga was mistress of incantation and enchantment, and she tried to show me some of her skills several times. As I say, she was unable to teach me even the simplest spell."

Natasha scanned the scroll. She knew some Icelandic, and the writing was close to that glorious language with several unknown cuneiforms among the beautifully written words. "This is a spell here?" She indicated a section that almost seemed to swirl like smoke as she read it.

Thor pulled a face. "I am not sure – yes, I suppose it is. How did you know?"

"To be honest, I have no idea. It just  _looked_  magical."

He tossed back his golden hair and gazed up at her. "It speaks to you, does it not?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. And this section here – it is dark. I'd guess it's a curse."

He stood so suddenly the chair shot back and crashed against the wall. Tony, who was half-asleep next to the coffee-pot, awoke with a loud snore and a grunt of "Whacha mean asleep I was listening the whole time."

Thor ignored him. "You seem to have the ability to feel the magic behind the texts. Ever did my mother try to show me, but I was completely unable to – well, to be honest, it was frustrating for us both. At the end she gave up on me entirely."

Natasha nodded; she could just imagine. Thor was the shining prince who was good at everything… she always thought of him as a bit of a pampered son. Perhaps his status as only child of two royal parents made him expectant of easily-won rewards. "I wish I could have met her," she said as she rolled up the scroll and carefully handed it back to him.

He grinned and pressed it back into her hands. "It would make me very happy – just as it would have thrilled the queen herself – if you would accept this scroll as a gift. Frigga would have loved to see it in the hands of someone who could at least sense the potential within."

"Hey, can I have a scroll too if you're handing out Asgardian knick-knacks?" Tony tried to grab Natasha's prize.

"No way. It's mine, Stark." She held it out of reach and went on tiptoe to kiss Thor's cheek. "Thanks so much! This is awesome. Know what? I'm gonna steal what's left in Stark's coffeepot and go read this before Fury calls me for babysitting or loan retrieval."

* * *

The one luxury Natasha added to her tiny apartment when she moved in was a small fireplace. Ice pellets rapped against the glass as she entered, and she thought a quick fire would make her rooms – cold and impersonal as they were – much more welcoming.

Once the flames leapt up inside the box-like hearth, she sat on the floor and unrolled Thor's gift. Under her fingertips the words and runes twisted and turned like tiny ink lizards warmed by the heat.

Phrases leapt off the page as she scanned it. "For finding hidden paths… to reveal the true nature of things… to hide one's form …" It was all fascinating and quite different from the love philters she had expected. One described a method of creating a light in the bearer's hand, and she cupped her fingers instinctively to try and create the spell as though she could actually get it to work.

The log in the flames popped, and Natasha looked up. In the heart of the fire she saw a figure with blue skin and red eyes watching her; his mouth hung open with fascination – and more. Yes, what she saw in his face was desire…

_I wish you could hear me,_  he mouthed.

_It's difficult to hear you,_  she replied inside her mind. At once his lips parted, and the red eyes widened; she could see his pupils darken with...

Yup, definitely desire.

Natasha shook her head, and the image disappeared. Studying texts hundreds of centuries old must have made her hallucinate. The act of deciphering the faded ink made her eyes blur and imagine a picture in the flames – one that moved and tried to speak to her.

That had to be only explanation.


	2. Magic

Natasha hunched over the scroll, felt the magic stream from the words under her fingers. She was the last person to believe in such things, but as soon as Thor handed her the parchment a surge of power bolted right from the words into her veins, and she could not deny the pleasure it gave her. In fact, holding the document (especially when she was in front of her tiny fireplace) made her sex tremble and jitter; twice she had considered picking up the phone to call one of her lovers, and both times the magic won out for her attentions.

Because she could  _see_  it. There was no denying the possibilities within – Natasha could picture the spells described in the spiky writing, could call forth the words and runes, could picture the incantations, and yet she could not actually make them come alive. It was there, she knew it was. Natasha shifted, reread a spell designed to shift the user's appearance, and tried again to make it work. "Blue skin," she muttered. "That would be pretty cool, all paranormal and shit. Come on." The snapping electricity in her clit edged closer to orgasm, and she shuddered with the sensation. It was as though she sat in a glass cage with the enchantment on the other side of the wall, in plain view but completely out of reach.

After a few more attempts she put down the scroll, determined to call Thor and ask for more information. She picked up her phone and froze when she saw it was three in the morning – somehow five hours had passed without her realizing it.

* * *

 

"You have to find me more scrolls." Natasha had risen early despite a restless few hours of non-sleep and stood in Thor's doorway with her arms crossed. "I want to borrow them, and by 'borrow' I mean keep." It had gone beyond the point of asking; her thighs twitched with the desire to know more, to break out of the bubble and seize the magic just beyond her reach.

Just over Thor's shoulder, Jane waved a pot of coffee. "Want a cup?" Her hair fell messily over her face in a classic sex 'do; Natasha reflected sourly at least someone had a satisfying evening as she waved away the offer.

"I would be happy to give you more information, but I am afraid I must go to Asgard today and not return for some time." Thor's blue gaze crinkled with sorrow. "Can you wait for a few months?"

Natasha shook her head. "No. I  _have_  to get them now. Can you figure out a way to come back, bring my stuff, and shoot back to your palace?"

"I am afraid that is out of the question. As soon as I arrive my friends and I must inspect the current guards – word comes there could be a threat from one of the other realms."

"An opened portal, according to him. Of course it's really a wormhole anomaly." Jane wound her arms around his waist from behind and winked at Natasha.

Natasha shook her head. "It's not good enough. You have to take me with you, and I'll find my own ride back. When are you leaving? Today?"

"I must leave anon…but you must be cautioned – such a trip is dangerous. There is exceeding unrest along the branches of Yggdrasil, according to all I hear." Thor covered Jane's hands with his own; his mighty fists swallowed the scientist's dainty fingers.

"It's all settled then. Call me when you're ready." Without waiting to hear his reply, Natasha nodded at Jane and left.

* * *

 

The palace at Asgard was surrounded by a double ring of guards; the interior was headed by Sif and a beautiful woman with long braids. Thor gave Sif a frank hug and bowed to the stranger; he introduced her to Natasha with an air of deference. "This is Amora," he said. "Her knowledge of magic keeps our defenses stronger than anyone could imagine. Asgard is indeed lucky to have such a powerful enchantress on our side."

Natasha already knew Sif; she liked her upfront nature and commitment to her craft. Before she could greet Amora, however, the fair-haired guard spoke to Thor. "Two garrisons are on their way to Jotunheim, as your father ordered," she declared. "Should be a mighty war with a valiant victory, if all goes well."

Thor nodded. "Well done. The city appears tightly guarded – congratulations to both of you."

"Is there a threat?" Natasha asked. "I thought Asgard was in the middle of a long peace, brokered at the command of the late queen."

"There are always threats when one holds all nine realms in one fist," Amora explained. Her eyes were as direct as Sif's gaze, as green as the moss around a forgotten well in the forest. "Sif and I must keep careful watch over all corners of the palace to ensure the All-Father's safety."

"Of course." Natasha looked at Thor. "Did you want to visit your father?"

"Are you here on a mere visit?" Sif interrupted. "My apologies, but Amora and I must clear all visitors from other realms first."

"That's fine." To display her non-threatening status, Natasha spread her arms. "Thor leant me a scroll belonging to Queen Frigga, and I was – well, to be honest, it's all I can think about. I'm intrigued by the magic within, and he promised me a few more so I can study them."

"Magic!" Amora peered closer. "Are you interested in enchantment? The queen was mistress of her craft."

"Yes, I am. I never thought it would be so interesting, but one look at the writings and I knew I had to find more."

Amora turned to Sif. "I could take this mortal to my rooms and teach her a bit of my ways if you can finish my shift."

"'Twould serve us all quite well!" Thor enthused. "Sif knows ever I thought of naught but my sword and steed when I was a lad – I fear I was a sore disappointment to my mother."

"Go with her," Sif offered. "I shall stay here, and perhaps the prince and I may visit the new welter cannon while you two prose over dusty parchments."

* * *

 

"Why are you interested in the scrolls?" Amora's eyes were wide-set, innocent, but Natasha could almost see the shrewd mind whirring behind that green gaze.

"Not for any nefarious purpose." Idly she stroked the edge of the original parchment Thor had given her. "When I read this I could see the possibilities behind the words, but I can't actually access them."

"And how did you feel when you read it?"

Natasha frowned. "Intrigued, I suppose, and puzzled…"

"That is not what I meant. Physically, how did you feel?"

"Oh. To be honest, I was excited. Exhilarated."

"Lusty?" Amora's question was baldly put, and her gaze never flickered.

"Yes." Natasha thought honesty would serve best.

"Ah." Amora seemed satisfied. "You have fró∂leikr." Without hesitation she moved closer, kissed Natasha on the mouth, and ran a pointed tongue over her lips. "Yes, I can taste it. It runs in your veins. This is unusual for a mortal – are you certain you aren't the byblow of one of Odin's visits to Midgard?"

Surprised by the kiss, Natasha couldn't help a short laugh. "Perhaps, although I doubt it. In any case I'm hardly your usual mortal."

Amora nodded again. "I will teach you what I can, although you must not expect fire from your fingertips, nor snakes crawling over the stones to your command. We can explore ways to harness the fró∂leikr in your body, but you must be very careful of not allowing it to take over and rule your passions or your instincts. You  _must_  learn to control it."

The words echoed dimly in Natasha's mind. She could seek the knowledge that hung just out of reach, access the power sensed by the fireplace. She kept her features blank and agreeable, but under her catsuit her thighs trembled with desire.

* * *

 

Loki kept his fingertips on the wall to guide him; the tunnel was black as the swirling waste in the center of Jotunheim during the starless nights of mána∂r. The breeze he noticed before intensified, tickling his nose with the scent of roasting meat, fresh bread, and young skin.

It had been a long time since his sketchy breakfast - a quick meal of stolen crusts and discarded crumbs - and his stomach rumbled at the smell of food. But beyond that his hungers were truly awoken by the scent of flesh warmed by a fire, and he pictured his firebird seated cross-legged at the hearth with red curls tumbling over her neck.

The tunnel wound on and on with twists and turns so jagged it felt he should have been headed back into the room he had just left. As he journeyed Loki mapped out a perfect plan of the path in his mind, and he saw it was an impossible tunnel: one that turned in on itself in strange ways and made his head buzz with some unknown sensation. Perhaps it was power, and he felt his imagination awaken, entranced by the strange place.

After a long time of darkness, stone, and hunger, Loki started to sense he neared something. He turned a corner, and a long beam of orange light pierced the corridor; along with the gleam came murmuring voices and the crackle of a small fire. He edged closer and the glow brightened; cautiously his bare feet stepped on the cold stones of the passage. If there were beings on the other side of the wall, he wanted to see who they were before announcing his presence and starting – what? A war? A sortie?

He had no idea what was about to happen, and Loki's prodigious curiosity pricked him forward until he stood flush with the end of the secret passage he had found. It was another barrier, and the boulders looked incredibly old, as though they had been there since forgotten times; unknown symbols were etched into them, as well as drawings of sea serpents and dragons. He felt the scratches in the rock and an electric thrill ran up his arms, making him think they had some magical purpose.

Those thoughts were interrupted by more voices. The unseen beings were on the other side of the stone wall, but how could he reach them? Was the passage merely a massive trick to drag him to a mysterious part of the Royal Tower?

Just as he was about to give up in disgust and return to the attic room, Loki discovered a tiny hole in the wall. He applied one eye to it and peeped through – and what he saw made his breath catch in his throat. Two women sat in a fire lit room, surrounded by books and candles. Their heads nearly touched as one spoke in a low voice, moving slender hands to make her point.

The speaker was unlike anyone Loki had ever seen before. He had seen denizens of other realms, but never any female so – glittery. Her pale hair streamed down her back in long braids framing a perfect oval face, and the clothes she wore proclaimed some military background.

But it was the other who made his heart bound into his throat, the one who sat next to the blonde and listened intently to each word. She nodded as though she understood and asked a question in a voice so low Loki couldn't catch the words, although he strained to hear them as the other answered. As she tilted her head to hear the answer to her query, the flames in the hearth caught her face. Loki's lips parted, and he stifled a gasp – because he knew her, had seen her wild red hair and calm intelligence several times before.

She was his firebird.


	3. Invasion

Amora explained they had to start with the basics, and so the lesson commenced with an explanation of how to read the spiky texts. Natasha gritted her teeth and dug in to understand the secrets within; after a few hours Amora declared her amazement at their progress. "It is as though you can sense what is written within although you cannot read it! Once you learn the runes and the language no one will be able to hold you back."

"I feel like it's speaking to me," Natasha admitted. Between her legs the swollen sex pulsed, and when Amora put one hand on her thigh she shuddered.

"You  _must_ learn to control the feelings inside you first, or we will get nowhere."

Squeezing her eyes shut, Natasha desperately tried to quell the desire launched by the magic in the scrolls. "Why am I reacting like this?" she asked. "Is it abnormal?"

"When I studied with Karnilla I spent the first few months in a state of orgasmic delight," Amora admitted. "As a result, I was forced out to learn on my own – she said my reaction was unseemly and unfit for an enchantress."

It  _was_ a bit embarrassing to feel such lust, although Natasha refused to admit to it. "That hardly seems fair."

Amora flicked her fingers in a sharply dismissive gesture. "There was nothing to be done about it. At the time I lost my temper, but over the centuries I learned to accept what was. In truth, if Karnilla and I now met I would best her in a duel."

The mere thought of being so close to all that magic brought Natasha straight to the edge, and she forced her mind back to the lesson and what she had seen of Asgard. "Do you use your enchantment to defend the realm?" she managed to gasp.

"Just so. Commander Sif considers me one of her most important weapons."

Natasha couldn't hold back a laugh. "How does that feel to be a weapon?"

Amora grinned. "You have met Sif. Naturally, anything one does with her is exciting. Now, let us return to study the five elements. I think you understand earth, wind, and air, I can see you have a firm grasp of fire, but as for aether, we need to work on that concept further."

"Indeed. Does the force exist within or without – or – ah – that is - both?" She stopped speaking, moaned, and clutched the table as her clit roiled with pleasure. With a sensation of pleasured torture Natasha's sex jittered, just short of a rolling, forbidden release.

* * *

Loki felt his jaw drop when he saw his firebird close her eyes and tilt her head back; it was patently obvious she had just about to experience an overwhelming bout of laviscious spending.  _But how?_  The other female never touched her. Was she simply about to come on her own without even touching herself?

The mere thought of a woman so ripe and ready went straight to his prick. He felt the tip quiver; a silken rush of some unknown force blew back from the girl with red hair. Yes, he could feel some unknown magical force! and his penis spasmed with an uncontrollable, electric twitch. Loki squeezed his eyes closed and shot jets of seed onto the wall in front of him. Gods! It was as though he had just bedded her, even though a firm wall of stones stood between them; when he pictured sinking himself into her firm flesh the thrilling tickle hummed again at the base of his cock and he came once more just as fiercely.

Loki's heart galloped his chest; he had to prop one arm on the wall to stand upright and struggle to control his breathing. What had the silken sensation been? He had no idea, but he knew one thing: no other being had ever excited him so much simply at first sight. Abruptly an image of carrying her to his furs and holding her close all night came to mind, and he made an irreversible decision – no matter what the cost, he  _had_  to have the firebird. Loki determined to make her his own – there was no other choice. Under his fingers the scratches in the wall squirmed as though they had some magic of their own. Loki caressed the pictographs and got the sensation of possibility behind them, as though they had a function. A purpose.

Yes. As he touched the sea serpent and the dragon, he clearly saw a door opening. It would open the way to her, to his firebird, if he could just figure out how.

Loki touched the dragon – no, that wasn't right. The serpent, then. Yes, it was the one he needed; he could feel it in his… oh. He could feel it in his prick. As he touched the serpent's coils and scales he felt himself hardening once more, like an arrow pointing the way to a magical opening.

The serpent first, then the dragon, followed by a squared spiral and a spear pointing west, the serpent again… His hands flew over the drawings and as he worked the possibility of the door grew in his mind until he realized he was just about to open the portal between him and the girl with flaming hair.

One brush of his fingers over the final pictograph would erase the wall as though it were no more than a soap bubble. Loki felt for the drawing, but just as he touched it a shout came from behind him in the passage.

"Runtling! What are you doing?"

_Helblindi._  Somehow Loki's brother had found the hidden corridor for himself. He marched forward, flanked with a garrison of the toughest guards from the tower – old-timers scarred from the battles between Svartelheim and Asgard.

Loki felt for the wall to try and stop what he had started, but it was too late. Under his fingers the stones melted away; he and Helblindi together faced the two women inside their study. Instantly his firebird stood and flexed her wrist; a series of flashes passed over Loki's head into the chests of the guards behind him. Loki felt for his knife, but he saw it would be too late – the blond woman was about to enact some strong enchantment. "Sif!" she cried as a ball of green flame appeared in her palm. "Sif, attend me!"

Helblindi pushed Loki to one side and pointed at the fair enchantress. A long spike of ice shot forth and enveloped her, encasing the woman as though she were a beautiful fish in a frozen lake.

Loki exclaimed as Helblindi prepared to take down the other. It was his firebird, his flame-haired vision, and he refused to let anyone else touch her. With a grunt of anger, he strode to her side, chilled her so she couldn't move and neutralized her wristlets with a controlled burst of ice. Once she was immobilized he slung her over his shoulder.

He was about to leave, but a strong bolt of instinct told him the papers she and the pale-haired woman were vital. His brother shouted, "Leave the slut! 'Tis our entry into the city of the accursed Aesir, you fool!"

None of them would survive if Loki didn't take the parchment scrolls to his realm – not him nor Helblindi, nor the pale enchantress, nor his firebird. He felt it with every sense in his body. Balancing the redhead on his shoulder, Loki swept the papers up in one fist.

Ignoring the hoots and insults from the Jotun guards, Loki sprang back into the passage and ran back towards his room, towards Jotunheim, towards the tower, panting fiercely in exultation.

Now everything was different. Now he had a prisoner, a pet of his own, his firebird. He would bring her back to his world, and she would be his mate.


	4. The Tower of Ice

With her usual sudden exit from sleep, Natasha sat bolt upright and realized she was in a pile of furs as though she slumbered in a cat's nest. She nearly collided with the blue being responsible for her abduction; the Jotun sat beside the "bed" watching her intently. She knew any attempt to escape would have to be tackled with extreme delicacy. Apparently the blue race had access to magic controlling ice and temperature in ways she, as a human, simply couldn't understand. It had been his enchantment, if that were the word, to put her under and immobilize her weapons; hence her current predicament and kidnapping.

His eyes shifted as she sat forward, tracking each motion. There was fierce intelligence there, Natasha reasoned, and perhaps she could eventually use it to her advantage.

"Do you understand me?" she asked.

The black hair surrounding his face shifted as he dipped his neck slightly. "Yes," the being replied. "I understand."

Natasha blew out a long breath of relief. At least she wouldn't have to start off negotiations with language lessons. "What's your name?" she asked.

"I am Loki, prince of Jotunheim. You are my firebird."

_Firebird!_   _Interesting_. "Why do you say that?"

"You were inside the fire in the hearth of the attics. I saw you there, reading these." He lifted one fist; clenched inside were her scrolls of magic.

"My name is Natasha." Carefully she eased her legs out of the furs and realized she was naked; at some point someone must have undressed her.

"Natasha," he repeated. "Natasha." A smile, brilliant with white teeth, glittered over his visage. "I like it."

"Cool. Okay, so – Loki. I'm hungry. Got any food? And where are my clothes?"

"Clothes – why?" The smile disappeared, followed by a scowl. "You are now my mate. You do not need this thing." He held up her catsuit in one hand, and his nose wrinkled with distaste.

Natasha made her face blank as her brain kicked into high gear. He had taken her wristlets, guns, suit, and the scrolls. She had no boots. They were in a tower appeared to be made of ice… her situation was desperate but she would find a way out. Ice – she could start there. Delicately she hugged herself and shivered. "I'm cold, Loki. Those of us from Earth – from Midgard – we need to keep warm."

He tilted his chin, a signal of recognition. "Yes, this I also understand. I will make you a fire, and the guard will bring food. You – stay."

As he turned to the fireplace, Natasha felt her lips curl with amusement. Apparently she was some sort of pet, to be treated with care but perhaps not much respect; she could use that against him as well. Pets had claws – she would show him just how sharp hers were.

* * *

After a meal of small black berries along with what tasted like salted bacon and smoked salmon, Natasha drank the water Loki gave her in a cup. It was excellent, cold enough to hurt her teeth, fresher than anything she had ever tasted, and slightly effervescent. Once she was done, he handed her a small flask and indicated she should try it. The contents were minted and highly alcoholic; even Natasha had to gasp at the burn on her tongue. Her system would process it quickly, but perhaps it would affect him faster? She licked her lips and held it out, noting he copied her gesture instantly with a slender, pointed tongue. Perhaps she could win his trust before long.

After the sharing the drink, Loki carefully withdrew the scrolls and held them out to her. "What are they?" he demanded.

"Scrolls." Just the sight of the parchment made her thighs tremble with desire.

"I know that much, Natasha." Danger smoldered in Loki's red eyes. "Do not treat me as a child."

She held up her hands in tacit apology. "I meant I really don't know that much about them. Amora – the enchantress your buddy froze when the Jotnar smashed into our chamber – had just started to teach me what they meant."

Loki waved the thought of Amora aside. "And what did you learn?"

The fire he had lit in the tiny hearth crackled, and she sighed to feel its warmth on her skin. The fur blankets were soft, and some artisan had lined them with a material much like silk; such luxury was completely unexpected in Jotunheim, if she had ever thought of the realm at all. "Not much," she admitted. "I don't think I had the gift of…"

His dark head leaned very close to hers. "Gift of what? What was it?"

"Magic," Natasha said. Probably it would mean nothing if she told him what was within the ancient parchment. He would never be able to actually work enchantment since his only available teacher was Natasha herself, a befuddled neophyte without the slightest idea of how the writings in the scrolls actually worked.

"Yes." Loki grinned again, and his cheeks dimpled in a way that made him attractive in a strange, alien manner. "Magic. I suspected something hidden lay within the writings. You will teach me what you know of these scrolls."

"I really don't know much, but…" Natasha shrugged. It would be a way to gain some of his trust, a tie between them. Besides, she was stranded in a room of ice within an unknown world – she had to grasp at any possibility for escape. "Very well, but you can't expect much."

"'Expect much'. What does that signify?"

"Never mind. You'll find out soon enough."

* * *

"Amora!"

The shout seemed to come from very far away. The enchantress was lost in a land of solid snow, of howling waste and icy wind. She put up one hand to shield her eyes and peered into the dark; far off huge figures moved with a purpose, heading in her direction.

"Amora!"

She whirled and ran in the direction of the call, away from the moving shadows in the snow. Her boots were built for battle on stone and field, not ice, and several times she slipped. Amora's skin quickly grew numb under the onslaught of frost, and it was difficult to make her legs actually work.

"Amora…this…take my…" The shouts seemed to recede. Was she going in the wrong direction? Perhaps it no longer mattered, in any case. The enchantress tried to summon up a fire, but her magic had fled, leaving her completely vulnerable to the wintry land.

Both knees gave out in the same instant, and she folded in a quick surrender. Death would come quickly in that environment, and Amora prayed she would meet it head-on with her eyes open in one final act of courage. She had nothing else.

"Amora…you…finest enchantress…in all nine realms…"

The witch blinked. It was true, no other enchanter could eclipse her. The cold had to be freezing her mind; why else would she merely accept such a ridiculous end? With one supreme effort she raised her hand, pointed at the ground, and muttered a few words through chattering teeth. A tooth of flame shot up and was instantly extinguished; she hid her dismay and tried again.

The fire caught, held. Carefully Amora added more fuel to the flames. They burned higher, and after a bit she could feel them prickle against frozen skin. The heat became a furnace, needling her with painful pricks as sensation returned to her skin, and she cried out even as she hated herself for yielding to the pain.

"Amora…"

* * *

The enchantress gasped. She was no longer in a frozen wasteland, nor were there dark monsters trundling towards her fire. Instead she lay in a huge bath of warm water looking up into Lady Sif's eyes. "Stars," she muttered. "They look like stars."

"Hallucinations," a male voice declared. "The cold affected her more deeply than we thought."

"Thank you, brother. You may leave now." Sif huffed with impatience, and Amora watched through her lashes as Heimdall exited the room in silence. When the door clicked shut behind him, Sif picked up a large sponge, doused it with water, and carefully held it to Amora's chest. "Is it too warm? Does this hurt?"

"On the contrary, it feels wonderful - don't stop. I feel as though I'll never be warm again." A bout of shivers wracked Amora's body, and Sif added steaming liquid to the bath.

"It may take a while for you to truly come back – you were completely encased in ice as though held in winter's coffin."

Amora sat up, splashing Sif as she recalled what had occurred earlier. "Jotnar!" she cried. "Within the palace! I must stop up the entrance – we must seek where they have gone – have you evacuated – what of the prince?" Her questions spilled out like hot water from a jug.

"Peace, enchantress. We have driven the scum from the palace – I slaughtered several guards myself, and Fandral relieved the large fellow of a few fingers. 'Twould have warmed your heart to see him in action. But, alas, the runt carried off the mortal you worked with before we could stop him."

"Natasha?" Forgetting her chills, Amora climbed out of the bath. Bubbles streamed down her nakedness, and quickly Sif wrapped her in a towel. "I will secure the opening the accursed giants found, but I will make it open only to my command. When you are ready, Lady Sif, we shall ride, find Agent Romanov, and return her to Asgard."

Sif showed her teeth in a feral grin of pure joy. "I shall look forward to slaying more of the thieving shites at your side." She settled the towel more firmly around Amora, and her eyes flashed with blood-thirst.

The last of the bone-chill disappeared from Amora's body as she looked into those starry depths and imagined fighting next to Sif's slimness in tightly-fitted armor. "Yes," she murmured, "we shall carry out the quest together. I, too, shall look forward to it."


	5. Violence and Magic

"You said the branches of Yggdrasil were in chaos," Sif reminded Thor. "Could such a disturbance create a passage between Asgard and Jotunheim?"

Amora interrupted. "Absolutely. The monster who kidnapped Natasha must have discovered the anomaly and used it to stage a revolution against the throne."

"Sounds about right," Thor frowned. "Except the Jotun didn't bother with the throne – he disappeared as soon as he immobilized the agent."

"Who can tell what these Jotnar are thinking? They are mindless creatures with no motivation or intelligence." Amora's snort rivaled Sif at her most scornful.

"Perhaps, but we should be prepared in any case. If there is another attack, I don't want another of our top guards frozen or skewered with a blade of ice. I shall go and make preparations now." Thor nodded at the two women and left, his footsteps echoing through the huge war room.

"It never would have happened if I hadn't been concentrating on the magic lesson. Natasha was an interesting student, and she captured my attention." Amora covered her eyes with one hand.

"We must make certain it never occurs again. I'll never forget the way you looked when I found you covered with ice. Even when you were thawed out you were …" Sif stopped.

"I was what?"

The warrior shook her head. "I didn't think you would come back when you succumbed to the frost magic."

"I have never succumbed to frost magic, and I don't plan on starting now! Remember that, Sif, before you accuse me of weakness. I'faith I pity the next Jotun who tries that particular trick on me again – he will find he is missing his balls at the very least."

"Accused you of weakness! When did I ever do so?" Sif protested.

"It is the nature of the word 'succumbed'." Amora crossed her arms; the entire affair had been a blot on her reputation, one she wished to erase by being vigilant and strong as possible in the future. The fact of all the Aesir it was Sif to find her in such a weakened state didn't exactly help matters.

"Obviously you are bent on finding a quarrel – choose someone other than me to vent your spleen." Sif picked up her sword, left the room without another word, and Amora was left to curse her own bad temper.

* * *

"I need clothes. The first thing you need to know about me is I refuse to lie in bed all day twiddling my thumbs."

Loki poked at her discarded catsuit with distaste. "But this is so big. So long." He smoothed his own garment, a length of fur hanging between his legs; the prince wore nothing else except stiff armbands over his forearms.

"By that you probably mean it will cover my boobs and butt? Well, buddy, that's sort of the point." Natasha held out her hand, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on his face. She refused to back down.

The Jotun prince tilted his chin in a haughty manner and looked at her with severity. "I will bring you clothes," he acceded, "but not these. Something more fitting."

Catsuit in hand, Loki left the room; an instant later she heard the locks on the outside slide home. Instantly Natasha hopped out of the pile of furs and paced the chamber; a steady draft puckered her skin with cold, and the floor was freezing. She ignored her discomfort and poked in the corners and under the bed, hoping to find something she could use as a weapon. Beyond the scrolls from Asgard, there was nothing.

Heavy footsteps sounded outside in the hall. As a last resort, Natasha picked up one of the scrolls; it seemed magic was her only option – and a major longshot at that. She hid her dismay when the locks popped off and fell onto the floor. A larger, more muscled version of the prince stood in the hall, lusty grin bearing white teeth. "Are you the runt's pet?" he said in a harsh, graveled voice.

"I'm no one's pet," Natasha shot back. "And as soon as my friends on Asgard – not to mention Midgard – discover I'm here, your entire tower is toast."

"Spirit. I like that." Without hesitation the huge Jotun removed his loincloth to reveal an immense, erect penis. He tossed his garment aside, marched forward, and fell on top of her on the bed. "Spread your legs for me, mortal wench," the being demanded.

"Fuck off!" Natasha managed a few punches to his throat and got her knee in his groin; with a muffled exclamation he swung his arm back and hit her across her face. She absorbed the blow and used its force to shrimp out, thrust with her legs, and roll from under his body; once free she crouched, ready to attack. The titan shouted with rage and launched himself at her. Natasha avoided the arc of his blow, swept his legs from under him, and pushed him back so he landed with a crash on the stones.

She had no time to congratulate herself; Loki himself strode into the chamber screaming in wordless fury. Quicker than her sight could process, a dagger of ice formed in one hand and he slammed it straight into the titan's chest. "Leave my pet alone – she is my mate!  _Mine!_ "

Although the blow looked deadly, the huge Jotun shook Loki off and rose to his feet. "You dare challenge me, whelp? I'll rip off your balls and stuff them down your throat!" The only response was another swipe with the dagger at the large being's eyes. Blood (red after all, Natasha noted) coursed down his face. He bellowed in pain, using a series of what sounded like extremely rude curses, and pounded out of the room.

"And stay out of our bedchamber, Helblindi!" Loki slammed the door shut and turned to Natasha. His eyes were redder than ever; rage seemed to course out of him. "Mine," he growled, and swept her up into his arms. She was deposited on the bed; before she could gather herself for another series of punches, Natasha found her wrists and ankles bound with the same cold spell as before.

"Wait. You don't want to do this…" Her words were cut off as Loki pounced on her. His teeth dug into her neck and one powerful thigh spread her legs apart. He palmed her breast easily, and when she protested again he covered her mouth with his other hand.

Loki's face was contorted with anger and something else – it seemed as though he was in the middle of a haze of desire and nothing could bring him out of it. "Mine!" he shouted again. "You are mine!"

Natasha managed to bite one thumb, and he stopped. The red eyes gleamed with lust, and she framed his face to speak directly to him. "If you take me, it is against my will," she said as clearly as she could. "Are you a rapist?"

Heavy breaths rattled his chest, and he shook his head. "You do not understand. Helblindi will return with a garrison of guards, hold you down, and they will all have you one after the other. You will become his pet, and he will show you none of the care I have. Do you see?"

"I still don't want…"

"No." Loki brought his face so close she could taste his breath – cool, with an undercurrent of pine needles. "You don't understand at all. Natasha, I watched his last pet die. She killed herself by sitting by the window rather than suffer his lust any longer. If I take you now, it marks you as mine. No one else will be able to bother you including Helblindi, that pig-dog of a whore."

With a sudden movement he released her wrists and ankles from the cold spell, whatever it was. Loki went to the hearth, picked up two small items, and returned to Natasha's side. "The flints," he said. "I got them from her – Helblindi's pet. She was an elf-maiden, and far too slender and delicate for such a forsaken place as Jotunheim. These stones brought me the flames where I first saw your image, and I simply had to steal them from her. I didn't mean for her to die." He hesitated and added in a lower voice, "I should not like to see such a thing happen to you."

Natasha frowned. His change of manner was so complete it made her suspicious. Was Loki just as masterful at trickery and deceit as she was herself? There was no time left to wonder; the loud steps sounded outside the room once more. Helblindi had returned, probably with a garrison of Jotnar. "Fuck it," Natasha said, and she pulled Loki in for a long, deep kiss. His surprised grunt turned to a muffled, gratified hum. Long fingers wrapped her thighs and drew them either side of his slender hips. Perhaps he wasn't as large as Helblindi, but Loki was certainly no runt where it mattered. She felt the erect length of him on her belly as she dragged her fingers through his long, black hair and tasted his cool breath in her own mouth.

The entrance burst open once more; Loki and Natasha both turned to see his brother flanked by several guards. When Helblindi's red gaze fell on them together on the furs, his eyes blazed; in order to seal the deal, Natasha deliberately reached for Loki's hand, placed it on her breast, and locked her heels behind his back. "Get out," she said pleasantly. "We're busy."

Loki grinned. "Yes, we are."

Helblindi exploded with a long, garbled string of Jotun curses that, she supposed, roughly translated to 'What the bloody hell?' Loki interrupted with a savage shout of his own, the equivalent of 'Fuck off, you stupid asshole.' Helblindi slowly withdrew and slammed the door. His footsteps could be heard outside; they died away and left them in silence.

"We really need a better door," Natasha said.

Loki gasped and began to shake; after a few moments she realized he was laughing. "Stealing you was the best decision I ever made," he said.

"I'm not quite convinced yet."

"Oh, Natasha." He rubbed his sex against her and bit one shoulder with a sudden strike, like a snake going for the kill. "You will be."

"No, I…" She meant to add the ruse was over, they didn't need to go any further, but it was too late. Loki covered her mouth with his and licked her tongue, teeth, and palate; his large hands pushed her knees up and he slid her onto his erection in one mighty thrust. He was cold inside her, although not painful. She tried to struggle, but her body seemed to be betraying her; Loki's smooth member was like a glass dildo and rubbed against the very spots she sought out when she pleasured herself. God, when was the last time it felt so good?

Natasha closed her eyes and fought the wave of desire rolling through her. She refused to – ohhhhh. It was sick, it was disgusting, it was – ohhhhhh.

It wasn't her fault, or so she told herself. After all, the past few days she had spent chasing elusive, magical orgasms. Her clit, set free at last by the huge prick inside her, fluttered and pulsed like a tiny heart. God, it was delicious. "Wait," she managed to get out.

"No, no more waiting." He stood suddenly from the bed with her still impaled on him and wrapped his arms around her; somehow he was able to thrust into her standing up. "Put your mouth on mine, again – I like that."

"What, kissing?"

Loki paused, panting against her neck. "Kissing? Is that what it is called?"

"Loki, have you had sex before?" Natasha wondered if she were deflowering a virgin; he was certainly very good at it if he was.

"Sex? Of course. But never the kissing thing."

"Jesus." She couldn't help giggling. Never would she have guessed she would be a Frost Giant's first kiss.

Curious, she licked his lower lip; instantly he did the same to her, purring with pleasure. "More." His lips parted, and he slid his tongue over hers, lapping her mouth like a cat with cream.

Natasha had withstood many things, but the sight of Loki experiencing such pleasure from her kisses made her come oh, so close. Her juices coated her thighs, and she could smell her own arousal. It was impossible to hold back, and with a cry into his mouth she felt the sharp, stinging ecstasy of a long-withheld orgasm.

"Oh," she cried. "Oh. Oh."

Loki shouted, fell back on the furs with her underneath, and pummeled her with his hips. His teeth nipped her neck; she would have a huge bruise on her throat later. The cold inside was replaced with warmth; she was pretty sure he had just released into her. After an endless moment of him straining against her, he collapsed on her chest.

The Black Widow waited for him to move, and at last she had to push him off her. "Why did you do that?" he demanded. "I want to do it again."

"You got rid of your douche brother – we're done here," she said coldly.

"Done? What do you mean? You are my mate."

Natasha reared back and spat into his face. "I am  _not_  your mate, asshole. You stole me – it won't happen again."

Loki made a sound of disgust, vaulted off the bed, and marched to the door. There he stopped, picked up something off the floor, and tossed it to her. "Clothes," he said. "I brought them for you, as you requested. No one else will bother you – I shall make certain of it."

The door slammed behind him, and she was left alone.


	6. The Ice Dance

Several days passed – at least, Natasha thought they did. It was difficult to tell since the skies visible from her narrow window were constantly dark and filled with blowing snowflakes; in any case, she thought days and nights were probably longer in Jotunheim.

Loki never reappeared, and after a while she allowed herself to relax. With nothing else to do she took out the scrolls and studied them. The magic was clearer than ever – one section described sources of power, another the creation of illusions such as snakes or even mirror reflections that could appear or disappear at the wish of the enchanter. Natasha longed to be able to enact the spells; they quivered like bright coals just at the edge of her vision, but when she tried to reach them they faded.

Naturally the study of the scrolls brought her former problem roaring back with greater force than ever. Despite her recent bout of sex with the Jotun prince, Natasha felt herself shiver with need – and not only between her legs. The tips of her breasts, her thighs – her entire body shook with desire, and as much as she tried to suppress those longings as Amora had urged her to do in another realm, it seemed impossible. At last she threw the scrolls aside and put herself through a long series of workouts to try and exorcise the lust inside. However, as much as she kicked, punched, whirled, and stretched, the tiger of wanting roared in her blood and refused to be tamed.

* * *

"You will come downstairs with me tonight." Loki opened the door and spoke without a greeting; his thin face was severe. Probably he was still furious with her.

Natasha hopped up at once and nodded agreement. She was tired of the room and about to lose her sanity if she had to stay longer; furthermore any excursion would give her more intel about the tower of ice and the realm, not to mention the Jotnar themselves. "Ready," she declared.

His lips quirked with momentary amusement. "Not like that. You must dress with ceremony. Tonight is the Ice Dance, and there will be many important guests. All bring their mates or pets, and I…"

"… And you are bringing me," Natasha finished for him. "Aren't I lucky? Go on, tell me what I have to change into."

He produced a heavy box made of what looked like dark iron and put it on the bed; with both hands he lifted the lid. Inside were long chains of silver interspersed with black stones. Carefully he lifted one line of links out and held it up – a necklace, Natasha guessed, with a round circle at one end. "Don't tell me," she began, pointing to the collar. "Are you really going to put that on me?"

Loki didn't answer. Already he had produced a key; twisting it in some tiny, unseen lock he opened the wide collar, snapped it around her neck, and relocked it. The chains hung from the necklet between her breasts in a loop long enough to droop over her navel; the metal was cold enough to make the breath hiss in her throat. There was another for her waist, a wide belt studded with more of the black stones.

"Cold?"

"What do you think?" Natasha snapped. "Of course it's cold." She took a breath and settled herself, remembering she had to play along. If he wanted to parade her like a Fifth Avenue debutante's fox terrier in front of the court, she had to pretend to enjoy it. "Do you like the way they look on me?" She put her hands on her waist; the stance made her breasts under the thin band of fur stick out.

"Very much." His voice was husky, but it seemed Loki didn't want to waste time. He had her sit on the bed and added a set of armbands, one above each elbow, as well as anklets and several toe rings. These he pushed carefully onto her feet before he allowed her to stand.

She was the perfect recreation of a slave girl; obviously some fantasies were universal to all realms. "Just add a metal bra and you can call me Princess Leia," Natasha muttered.

Loki held her by the elbows, a light touch to inspect her appearance, but her words made him snap to attention immediately. "Princess? Which princess is this?"

"Oh." Natasha made a dismissive gesture with one hand. "She isn't real – just a character in a movie – a tale, you know. A saga."

"You will relate this tale to me." He slid back the bolts on the door and guided her over the threshold; the icy floor was murder on her bare feet. With dismay Natasha saw a long staircase with steps coated by ice and blowing frost. Loki didn't hesitate; he picked her up in his arms and started the descent. "The tale," he reminded her.

"Right – um, it's a long one, so…" She tried to recall the order of events in the Star Wars movies. As he carried her down the steps, his eyes intent on hers, she recounted the story of the rebel alliance and their fight against the Empire. Loki's breath quickened on her neck, and a glow kindled in his eyes.

"Revolution! And against such odds. It reminds me of our own circumstance here in Jotunheim – we had our most precious relic taken from us, Natasha, by forces we could not fight. They used magic to steal the Casket of Ancient Winters, the source of our energy. Without it, our realm is dying…"

Perhaps he realized he had said too much. Loki stopped talking and his face became severe once again, almost stoic. Natasha's mind whirled with everything she had just learned – so the civilization holding her captive was on the brink of destruction. She could use that knowledge to bring the Jotnar to their knees.

But now that she knew, did she want to become the Midgardian equivalent of Pizarro and do such a thing?

* * *

Two huge Jotnar sat at one end of the room growling and shouting at each other; Loki shot them one scathing look and carried Natasha to the other end of the table where he slid into a seat of ice and placed her on his lap.

"Tell me more of the Death Star. How did the Rebel Alliance defeat it?" he demanded.

"My memories are a bit hazy, but the hero – Luke – was instructed to rely on his instincts, not the machinery guiding his ship."

"Instincts," Loki repeated. "Luke. His name is like mine, yes?"

Natasha surprised herself by giggling. "Yes, I suppose it is." She jerked her head up when Helblindi slid into the seat next to them. "I thought you injured your brother," she whispered in Loki's ear.

"'Twas a mere scratch, but if he attempts to take you again I shall slit his throat."

The words were lightly said in contrast to their heavy import. Natasha heard the threat against the background of the two large beings at the far end arguing in a harsh, unknown tongue. Helblindi sighed and stretched out long legs; one foot brushed her furs and Loki struck out instantly with his fist. At once Helblindi hit back, and she was dumped unceremoniously on the ground as the two crouched, snapping at each other with teeth bared. Their shouts echoed in the huge chamber, and after several minutes the two large Jotnar slouched forward; the biggest one knocked Helblindi's head into Loki's skull and shouted the Jotun equivalent of "Start fighting again during dinner and I'll knock you into next week!"

"I hear, Farbouti." Rubbing his forehead, Loki picked up Natasha from the floor, settled her on his lap once more, and thrust one hand under the fur covering her breasts – probably his version of pissing on a tree to claim ownership. A shivering servant scuttled forward and placed an iron trencher filled with meat by their chair. With one last warning grunt to Loki and Helblindi, the two large beings returned to their own seats, red eyes filled with simmering violence.

"Who are they?" Natasha asked.

"My parents." Loki picked up a shred of meat and chewed.

At once a feeling of deep melancholy came over her. Natasha had been in many bar fights, revolutions, skirmishes – but always on her own terms. The dark, icy cavern and the violent inmates depressed her, and she felt she would never escape the ice and blood of Jotunheim.

In one far corner a musician began to play a drum, beating the instrument with a deep booming sound. Loki put down his meat, slid his hand over her thigh, and edged them forward in the seat they shared. The music, Natasha saw, was precursor to the Ice Dance he had promised; a procession of Jotnar entered, all wearing the slim bands of fur prevalent in the realm around their hips. Three were obviously female, two were large males, and it was impossible to guess the sex of several others.

The dancers paraded around each other, and slowly Natasha realized they traced elaborate figures, decahedrons and inverse polygons of movement. Any mathematician would have been fascinated by the fractal patterns they drew, and she forgot her momentary depression. The drum sounded one last boom, and the dancers raised their arms. A slim column of ice shot up from each palm, and the blue spires connected, twined around each other, wove into an impossibly lovely crystal.

A collective growl of appreciation rose from the audience,  _if you could call it that,_  Natasha thought. Loki wore a look of feral joy; he cupped her chin and tilted it up.

Carefully the performers balanced their icy creation above their heads and circled underneath it, adding layers to the already complicated frozen cone. Natasha had never seen anything so savage and lovely in her entire life. The dancers shouted in unison, and they tossed the ice sculpture to the roof; it shattered and fell on the assembly as crystals of blue snow. She laughed and held up her face, tasting the delicious frost as it fell on her hair and eyelashes; under her furs Loki's hand found her wet warmth and stroked her in an insistent rhythm. His intelligent eyes bored into hers. "I want to leave now. You will teach me magic from the scrolls, and we will talk more about the Skywalker saga."

"This is a formal dinner – or at least the Jotun version of one. Are you certain you want to walk out on your brother and your parents?"

"Now," he repeated.

As Loki carried her to the huge staircase of snow and ice, Helblindi's head snapped to watch their exit. His eyes never left them, never wavered.

* * *

The table was more of a device than actual furniture, a complicated machine that divided into 64 squares at Amora's command. Exhaustion forced black spots at the corners of her vision, but she shook off her weariness and tried again. The pattern wouldn't come out right, no matter how many times she tried it as she crouched like a panther over the stones in front of the wall where the Jotnar had dared to enter Asgard. Once they left, the wall closed behind them and nothing she did could reopen the entry.

Amora gathered the Norns in her fist and cast  again. She was so close, and yet the answer teased her, just out of reach. With ebbing patience she moved them in the ordered files – Kenaz hopping like a frog, Perthro oozing up the side like an escaping thief in the night. Yes, that was it. Excitement burned her throat as she herded them to the wall so she could open it…

"Damnation!" The progression collapsed as she ran out of option. The enchantress stood, smacked the table, and prepared to flip it against the wall, smash the delicate machinery…

"You will be sorry if you do that." Sif stood by her side; the warrior must have entered, unheard, at some point. She held out a plate of bread and fruit, and Amora shook her head.

"I am so close. Why can I not find the proper progression? It is as though the very stones of the wall tease me with their weight!"

"I'll be certain to have Volstagg relieve himself on them later for doing so." Sif's voice filled with dry amusement, and her hand closed over Amora's arm. "But eat first – you have worked without ceasing for two days. Sit on the bed and have some bread."

Amora allowed herself to be towed to the cushions; with a long sigh she lay back and waved away the food. "I have prepared everything else – invisibility spells for the army, warded shields to spell off the ice magicks – but I cannot get through one wall. One thin barrier of stone stands between us and victory."

"And I have heat cannons to shrink the damnable giants, once you do find the way." Sif cupped Amora's chin and forced a slice of fig, cool and sweet, between her lips. "Eat before I sit on your chest and force you."

Despite her weariness, Amora's breath stuttered in her chest. "Would you do such a thing?"

Sif raised one eyebrow. "Naturally! I…" She stopped as Amora licked a drop of nectar from Sif's fingers.

"Mm." Amora's good humor was restored as Sif lost her self-composure. "Delicious."

"Yes. Well. I must return to the heat-cannon – and eat make certain to eat all the bread or I shall …"

"Tie me down?" Amora winked. As Sif left, the enchantress let a long trill of laughter spray from her throat. She would eat the food Sif had brought, and sleep; the morrow would bring the answer she sought.

It simply had to. There was no other option.


	7. Center

Natasha unrolled the scroll, the first one Thor had given her – it seemed ages ago already. Loki sat beside her on the furs and watched every movement with intense interest. "Why did you not teach me magic before?" he asked.

"What?" She squinted at the question, already lost in the feeling of magic from the unknown words on the parchment.

"I asked you to show me the scrolls the day we met, and you avoided my question. Why?"

Natasha took a long, deep breath and shook her head – she didn't want to talk about the desires that exploded in her belly when she thought or read about about magic. "You tell me what to do and I do it. Isn't how this works?" She wiggled the silver cuffs on her wrists at him for emphasis, the jeweled restraints he had placed there before the banquet.

"And yet I saw your face soften this night when we watched the ice dance together. Why is that?" His gaze was like a spear to her gut, a pin in the butterfly she kept hidden from everyone, even herself.

She settled the collar around her neck to give herself time to think; for some reason her intuitions told her to be honest with him. "Prince, I thought your society was violent, fierce, unprincipled – but I now see there's beauty in Jotunheim as well as savagery. When I watched the ice dance tonight, it … well, it touched me."

His red eyes were intent on her face. "Touched you," he repeated.

"Yes."

"Why did you spit in my face when we first lay together?" Loki didn't move when he asked the question, but Natasha sensed the simmering tension under his calm; something about the way the lines on his skin shimmered as though they could convey emotion, told her he had been surprised by her attack after they first lay together and perhaps hurt by it as well.

She crossed her legs, and the chains hanging from her collar clanked together over her breasts. "Look, you and I will have to come to an understanding. I've been in charge of my life for decades, and when you kidnapped me – no matter what reasons you told yourself at the time – it took away that control."

"But you are my mate."

"But I had no choice in it. If you had come to me in Asgard or even Manhattan and said,  _Hey, wanna come to Jotunheim and hang out with me in my ice tower? and I'll fuck you every chance I get with my big blue schlong,_ I might have jumped at the chance. But no, I got scooped up and dragged off as though I were the heroine of some dumb romantic fantasy."

"You  _did_  choose me." His red eyes narrowed. "When we saw each other in the fire you wanted me then, and I wanted you. Perhaps you lied to yourself about it, but we were mated before we ever met in the flesh."

Natasha sat still, the anklets pressing into her flesh. Absently she noted the pain and discarded it. "Still, I…" she started to argue.

"Why did the ice dance affect you so?" he interrupted.

"I used to be a dancer. Well, at least I was in false memories – it's a bit complicated."

"What are false memories? You will explain this to me." Loki hooked his index finger through her belt and played with the chains hanging over her thighs idly.

"My mind was altered to believe I was a ballerina – a dancer, like the ones downstairs. I even remembered my breakthrough role – The Firebird."

Loki dropped the chains, surged forward to cup her face in his hands, and kissed her again and again on her eyelids, cheeks, neck, and lips. "But you are  _my_  firebird! It was the first thing I thought when I saw your image in the flames."

Natasha moved away and reached for the scrolls. "Do you want to give this a try or not? And I suppose I have to warn you first these scrolls have a strange effect on me. Amora warned me about it, but I can't seem to move beyond my own desires. I suppose she wants me to attain a higher plane. I can see the possibilities of magic within the lines written here, but this …"

"Natasha." Loki interrupted her once more. "Your words make no sense at all. What are you trying to tell me?"

"Sorry." She tried again. "Whenever I try to read these scrolls it affects me physically – in my body, you know."

"Do you become ill?"

"No. It makes me…" Natasha fumbled for the right words; in truth she wished she hadn't brought it up. The minted liquor she had drunk with dinner seemed to have affected her more than she thought.

Loki grasped the loops of chain hanging from the collar still locked around her neck and pulled her closer so she leaned on his powerful thighs. "Just tell me."

"To be honest, when I read the scrolls it makes me want sex."

A slow smile spread over his face, and he closed the gap to kiss her gently. "But this is good – for me. I suppose it is why you wanted to avoid our lessons, little firebird. Together we will find the delight in the magic together and make the spells come alive with our sex."

"Loki, that won't work." Natasha pushed him off once more. "Amora said I  _must_  suppress it if I want to create magic from those scrolls, although if I'm honest for once each time I look at the words my body goes crazy. It's like I can't control myself. And you don't know me, but control is what I  _do_. I monitor my emotions, my breathing, my heart rate…"

"Natasha." He pulled her back into the circle of his arms and moved his lips to her neck. "Enough words. Could it be the scrolls are calling to you in a way this enchantress might not understand? Perhaps you need to give in to your instincts, to allow the feeling to run through your body, your veins, your skin, the way Luke Skywalker did in the saga you related to me." Abruptly he palmed one breast, licked her neck, and blew on it. "Let yourself experience the true gift of magic for once."

She tried to disentangle herself, but he pulled sharply on the heavy belt so she sat flush against him with her back against his chest, his breath in her ear. "Now," he repeated.

His violent insistence brought her close to the edge, and Natasha's hands trembled as she unrolled the scrolls. "This," she pointed to one line, "shows the user how to create a ball of light in her palm. I can see it so clearly, but I can't… ohhhh." Right on track her clit began to flutter with the now-familiar skirl of erotic desire from the written runes.

"Oh," Loki echoed. "Yes, I see it as well." He raised one hand, palm flat, and Natasha's eyes widened as a globe of green light flickered and appeared over his fingers.

"How did you manage that?" she gasped. "I've been trying for days. And you just – fuck, how did you do it?"

"You," he whispered in her ear. "You helped me do it. You pointed out the lines, and I was able to bring them to life."

Natasha squeezed her thighs together and panted as she tried to ignore the feelings surging through her. "This one intrigued me," she said when she was able to talk, pointing to another section written in green. "I'm pretty sure this spell changes the user's physical appearance…mmm. I, um, I wanted to try turning blue when I saw it – can you believe that?"

"Did you?" His hand cupped her forearm, gentle and firm. As she watched, the blue faded to ice, to pale flesh, paler than her own skin. Loki's hand slid to her shoulder, to her chin, and forced her to face him – the red eyes were replaced with green pupils, the lines on his skin no more; only the black hair remained, framing the elegant cheekbones, hawked nose, and cruel lips.

Bullets exploded in Natasha's bloodstream, shrapnel of want and magic all mixed up in a swirl of lust. She could feel the enchantment on his skin – hell, it was inside his bones – sparking like a downed wire in an ice storm, lethal and beautiful. Without giving herself time to think she spun and arced one leg over him so she sat in his lap to make it easier to plunge her fingers in his black hair, to cover his mouth with hers, to taste the cold lips, lick teeth and tongue. There was no way to get enough.

It was his turn to push her away. "Do you want me, little firebird?"

"Yes." Natasha tried to suppress her frantic breathing, the heartbeat she felt in her chest and her sex.

"Then you may have me, but only if you say you are mine."

"Loki…" Natasha thought of the inevitable ending to their story, the oncoming day when she would double-cross him to gain her freedom. Yet that receded under the snapping of magic between their skins, the great head of his prick rearing between her legs, the forbidden knowledge in his eyes.

"Tell me," he insisted. "Tell me you are my mate, and you may have me."

"Loki." Her heart stuttered in her chest. "I'm yours."

"You are my mate?"

"Yes!" She screamed as he picked her up and settled her with one fluid motion onto him, onto where he had once been purple-blue with desire, and now red with the illusion of human blood, where he had been cold once and now warm, so warm – no, hot with it…

Natasha flung her head back and sank onto him, experiencing each delicious inch. "Say it," Loki growled. "Tell me."

She could barely speak, and when he twisted beneath her to find a certain delicious spot inside, and when he teased her with such understanding pity and said, "That feels nice, does it not? Tell me, and I will do it to you some more," and she lost her mind and all control to shout she was his, she belonged to no one else, and it would always be that way, and those promises must have worked, because he thrust into her warm fluttering butterfly again and again until they both screamed with release.

* * *

In the circle of his arms, Natasha droused. She felt warm for the first time since her arrival in the frigid realm, and when she woke, eyelashes fluttering on his marble chest, she saw Loki's face turn blue. He shuddered and quickly turned pale once more; it seemed he strove to keep his assumed face.

"Listen. Doesn't that tire you out?" Natasha asked. "Take a rest, and let me see you as you really are."

"When I wore the skin of mortals just now you promised yourself to me. And you did not spit this time."

"Hey." She sat up and framed his face with her hands. "That had nothing to do with your physique and everything to do with my independence. You could wear black and pink zebra stripes for all I care as long as you keep fucking me like that."

Loki pushed her onto her back and hovered over her. "Are these words true?"

Natasha nodded slowly. "Yes, they are."

Slowly his skin turned blue, and his eyes regained their red color. One large hand cradled her head, and Loki kissed her as gently as snowflakes heralding an impending storm. "This word 'fucking' – what does it mean?"

"What we just did." Natasha couldn't help smiling.

"Yes. This?" A sly twist slished his engorged penis inside her once more, and she gasped and reared under him.

"Yes, oh yes."

"Fucking. I like this word."

"It is not a nice word, you understand – oh, baby, just keep doing that."

Loki suckled her throat, bit the pink tips of her breasts. "Only to use between us in our furs, is that right?"

Natasha got her legs over his shoulders, held his red gaze. "Yes. Yes. Yes."

His breath came heavy and quick; she felt it on her neck and tasted the pine scent of him – so alien and already familiar. She had made love thousands of times with countless lovers, many of them practiced at what they did to make her weak with pleasure. But none of them found such a crazy rhythm; instead of the usual in-out-in-out of sex, Loki slid out and out and then thrust with one strong push, teasing the spot until it felt her clit expanded between her lips, extended inside…

Oh. She would lose her mind with such intelligent fucking. It would never, ever be the same again.

Loki pulled her onto his lap, held her hips and swiveled her in strange figures; she could picture them – complex polyhedrons, figure 8's, all compounded by the exotic rhythms he insisted on. It made her pleasure increase and stay just out of reach, both at once. When she was certain she would lose her mind with desire he created a little green ball of light to glow between them, and that final touch of enchantment pushed her over the cliff where she fell, shrieking in ecstasy.

* * *

Much later, after several more bouts of lovemaking, Loki covered her carefully with the silk-lined furs. Outside the ice pattered on the windows. Natasha sensed a vengeful spirit nearby – Helblindi, probably, sulking in a dark passage as he listened to the sounds coming from their room.

Loki brushed those thoughts away as he gently moved the curls from her face. "You," he said. "You are my center."

She fell asleep too quickly and completely to wonder what those words meant.


	8. Darkness and Light

"Today we will follow the Skaði trails."

Natasha emerged from a blue dream fraught with ice magic and the possibility of limitless energy; she propelled herself to instant consciousness. It was one of her gifts, to be able to instantly desert the sweet confines of a dream for reality. Hope surged through her as she saw what lapped Loki's arms – the limp material of her catsuit. "Is this for me?" she asked.

"We will hurtle through the snow and ice today – but you need protection from the elements of my realm, little firebird." Gently he helped her up, held out the garment, and waited as she pulled it up over her hips. The feeling of the familiar Kevlar made her groan with pleasure as though she had regained her skin after being flayed.

There were boots to go with it made of leather and fur; also mittens and a peaked leather helmet. More furs wound over her legs and shoulders. As a final step, Loki unlocked the collar from her neck and stowed it carefully in the casket under their bed. He reached to lift her in his arms, but Natasha firmly shook her head. "No way, dude. I'm walking on my own now that I have shoes and actual clothes." Her head held high, she waited for him to unlock the door of their chamber before she negotiated the long, tortuous staircase of ice.

* * *

On the mountain, Loki created skis of ice for them both with his frost magic; the crystals clung to her feet and shins in a perfect casement. "They will take us down," he declared, "at great speeds."

Natasha tested the ice skis; they were surprisingly light and moved easily. The ice was more efficient than any binding available on Midgard, even better than the high-grade skis she used in the Soviet Olympics during one secret mission. "I'll need to cover my eyes, though," she cautioned. "I got optic wind-burn once, and I swore never again." Gently he placed his hands over her temples and blew on her skin. A fine film descended over the view of white broken by bands of mighty pines and cragged rocks – he had created an ice band, thin and strong, over her eyes. As she twisted to test her skis and the ice goggles, a flurry of what looked like huge Arctic foxes broke to their left and bounded over the snow; Loki laughed with her to watch the creatures navigate the rocks and snow wastes.

"Are you prepared?"

"Yeah. Bring it on." Natasha couldn't wait to feel snow under her boots, to move, to swerve under her own power. She had been locked in the gray tower for several days according to the calendar she etched in the rock behind their pile of furs; another bout of inactivity would have driven her insane.

Loki pushed off with his skis. Although the mountain was sharply angled, he drove straight down, never swerving to turn. It made sense – they had no poles, after all, but still it would take a great deal of nerve to handle such speed. Natasha pushed off and hurtled after him, and as her skis slid over the snow she sighed with delight. It was perfect for their run – the base was smooth as though recently groomed, slightly packed, and dry enough to part in front of their ice blades.

Trees whistled past her like digitized blips in a good hack job, and the crystals flung up from Loki's skis chilled her teeth. She realized she wore a manic grin; the sensation of movement and controlling her own destiny for the first time in days made her drunk with happiness. Natasha wanted to fling her head back and shout with savage joy, but she knew the sound waves could start an avalanche. Ahead Loki moved so fast she could barely see him. Her breath was snatched from her lungs; she had to suck in air in greedy gulps. The covering over her eyes protected her perfectly, the furs kept her warm. On her feet, the ice skis responded instantly, maneuvering easily around mogul hills and tiny cracks in the ice.

All too soon Loki stopped in a great swoosh of snow; Natasha stopped beside him and made certain her halt threw snow over his face. He laughed, wiped it off with one strong arm, and pulled her close to stand between his skis. A rare line of sun broke through the clouds to light the spot where they stood; Natasha tipped back her head and closed her eyes to enjoy the unusual warmth.

"Did you like that, little firebird?"

"Best ski run of my life. Go again?"

He nodded and stamped his feet to shatter his ice skis. "We will have to hike back up the mountain. I shall carry you on my back and create new skis for us at the top."

"Oh, no." Natasha shook her head in firm decision as she broke off her own skis. "I've had enough of being treated like a pet or a doll. Set the pace on our climb – I'll keep up."

* * *

Much later they tramped to a small structure on the crest of the hill. Loki told her it was a way house left for those who needed to stop and rest before the return to the ice tower. Inside Natasha pulled off her furs and sniffed. Dried meat hung in strips from long ropes, and bottles of dark liquid winked in the flames of the fire Loki lit for them. After the long day of skiing, her muscles were filled with a pleasant languor.

"We will stay here," he announced. He seized a couple of trenchers, filled them with meat, and took them to the table. "Bring us wine and we will drink to the snowy mountain we conquered today."

"Now you're talking my language." Natasha selected a bottle at random, uncorked it with her teeth, and took several pulls. It was the usual minted liquor, strong enough to make her breath catch. He took it from her and drank, his eyes closing with pleasure.

They were so hungry the meat tasted ambrosial. Several times Loki refilled the trenchers until Natasha declared she might explode. "Thanks for dinner," she said. "And the skiing – it was wonderful."

"And now, bed." Loki rose, pulled her hands to stand with him, and bent to kiss her.

"Loki…"

"I forgot – one moment." His blue skin paled until the other iteration of himself stood before her: black hair, green eyes, white flesh.

Natasha went on tiptoe and sought the dimple in the corner of his mouth. "I told you it doesn't matter what you look like. It's just – I expected savagery and violence, and yet here you have treated me to the best day of skiing I ever had. I know - Stockholm syndrome - but there's more to it than that. And then the magic…"

His pale hands pushed back her hair. "Yes, the magic. I brought the scrolls here – tonight we will work on them further."

At that she felt her lips curve. "Did you enjoy our last session?"

"Little bird, you know I did."

* * *

Loki spread his legs on the furs in the way house and beckoned for Natasha to sit between them; instantly she felt the snapping rush of magic through her clit. It seemed to grow stronger each time they played together, a true, inescapable force. "Can you feel it?" she gasped.

He reared under her, his hardness very evident. "You tell me."

"What – what are we going to do…" She meant with the scrolls; it was very obvious what they would do once their magic practice was concluded.

"Here." His finger traced a dark section at the bottom of the second parchment.

Natasha shivered. "I think this is more intense than the other spells. The green ball of light, your physical change – they were simple illusions. But this seems to be a doorway through the worlds into…" A bolt of pleasure shot through her body, so intense she nearly passed out.

"Yes. This is what I hoped." His arm gripped her waist tightly, and he stared intently at the words.

"Why? Is it so important?"

"Once Jotunheim was filled with light and sparkling energy. The ice dances occurred each night. We controlled the snows and even the trees did our will. But now the energy drains from our world, and we are dying."

"You think this will help?"

"Yes."

Natasha nodded and translated a few lines from the scroll; as he repeated the words she sensed an obscure fire burning between them. "Oh, Loki…" Natasha arched up and felt desperately for his hand; she pushed it between her legs. "I need you to touch me, just there, do it now. Please. Please."

He growled and slipped his fingers inside, bit her neck, pinched one nipple. His feet slid up the inside of her legs, sending bolts of lightning squirming straight to her clit. "Tell me," Loki insisted. "Tell me, Natasha."

"This line here – I think it says something about traveling from realm to realm. There are secret…secret…paths…Oh! I need you!" She couldn't talk any longer.

"Let me help the magic come out." Loki pulled her up, twisted her body in his powerful hands, and held her up to his mouth. His tongue slipped into her wetness, swirled over the swollen bean of her clit, rolled inside, one stripe up, around, spiraled… if he had been good at fucking, his mouth was inspired. Natasha bucked as though she rode a stallion; a scream was ripped from her throat as she came. He licked her through it as though he knew what was too sensitive and what needed more touching.

"You feel different," she panted in his arms. "More intense. We should be careful with this one."

"We will survive this. We may even enjoy it." Loki's head bent over hers, and he kissed her. It started gently, became passionate; it seemed he concentrated on every atom of her lips and tongue, teeth and hands, hair, eyes – but more than that, each thought swimming through her mind, desires, fantasies, hidden wants she didn't want to admit even to herself. The dark magic circled between them and edged violence into the act, but Natasha liked it, and she thought Loki liked it as well. When she bit his shoulder fiercely to make his breath hitch, and when she pulled his hair back so she could savage his neck, she was sure of it.

"A little wild one," he murmured into her hair. "Swim in the darkness and lose control with me."

* * *

After he lay with one fist under his head, staring at the wood ceiling above them. Natasha traced the blue lines on his chest, wondering. "What are your plans?" she asked.

"The Casket lies under the palace in Asgard. We will find a new path there, you and I, now that I can move between the realms with this new, dark magic. It will require stealth, but once we bring the sacred relic to Jotunheim my world will realize the despised runt has saved them." He turned swiftly and captured her fingers, brought them to his lips. "This is all because of you. The magic you have brought me, Natasha, will lead my realm out of darkness. You are like the shaft of light spilling over our faces at the bottom of the mountain when we arrived at the bottom on the trails." She smiled at his fancy, and the words tumbled from his lips. "Yes, you are that light for me. I feel as though a great evil has passed – you have no idea how much I put up with as the smallest of the Jotnar. I was an easy target for everyone, and Helblindi most of all…"

"Hey. This isn't about fratricide, is it? You're not just blinded by brotherly competition, I hope, because if so you can count me out."

Loki moved to lie over her and cupped her face. "He stole everything," he hissed. "He took my birthright, my weapons, my place. Each dawn brought new torture at his hands, insults, kicks, blows, a thousand petty privations you can't even imagine. I will not even speak of some things he inflicted – they are too disgusting to say aloud, involving blood and worse. But I could have born it if he had not made an attempt to fuck you. For this I will seize his power and what he considers his throne, and the ages will recall my name while his bones molder to dust."

His anger made him harden against her belly, and wordlessly Natasha drew him down, kissed him deeply, parted her legs. As he slid inside she moaned with the luxurious pain of their combined lust, for such beautiful pleasure could never, never last.

* * *

Amora knew the instant it happened – someone had found the way to navigate between the nine sacred realms. Incensed, she pulled on a simple shift and her leather boots, pushed the door to her chamber open with a crash, and strode to the turrets of the palace. There she lifted her palms, let loose a long bolt of power, and shouted wordlessly into the night sky.

She had no idea what time passed. Only a hand on her shoulder stopped her; she twisted into an attack crouch to find Sif behind her, sword drawn. "Do not release your temper on me, enchantress," she warned.

"The path is closed, and I cannot open it." Amora paced the small court between the spires, tossing her hair off her face. "There is another who now has the equal of my powers, and any moment it could arrive here in Asgard. I know this – I can feel it. And I can do nothing!" She reared back and howled with fury.

"Amora. Amora! Listen!" Sif shook her. "Think. What did the Jotnar take with them?"

"You already know. They kidnapped Natasha – my own student!"

"Anything else?"

Amora's breath heaved as she looked into Sif's eyes, so clear and intelligent. "I – yes. The scrolls we worked on together also disappeared." Realization coursed through her, and she seized Sif's wrists. "Of course! The Jotun fiend must be absorbing magic from the scrolls – but how? There is no teacher in that realm save Natasha, and she was a neophyte."

"Is there any other way to absorb that magical energy?"

The stars wheeled overhead. "There is one way, but it is very dangerous."

Sif's face lit in a delighted smile. "I adore danger. Tell me."

"The power of the scrolls can be accessed through sexuality." An idea grew, and Amora saw the logic of it; under Sif's steady gaze it all made sense. "Natasha instinctively felt that power, but she wasn't prepared. I guided her away from the erotic arts since they could have torn her body apart. Sif, if the Jotun has discovered how to access it using her as a lodestone, there is no telling what his race cannot achieve. They could return and ice our entire kingdom. All would be lost in an instant."

Sif shook her head. "That is simply not going to happen. You will find a way to stop it."

"I would have to absorb more powers myself. There are hundreds of scrolls in Queen Frigga's library, but there is hardly enough time if he can already move between the worlds."

"Then let us take the shortcut." Sif moved to grasp Amora's bright curls, pulled them so the enchantress felt her face tipped up. The enchantress was pressed to Sif's body from shoulders to toes; Amora felt the small, elegant breasts hard against her. Gods, it was divine. Amora wanted to share Sif's breath, taste her kiss and more. Her eyes closed, and somehow together they became the sky, the entire world; it was as though Amora tasted the essence of bravery and strength itself under Sif's demanding kisses.


	9. A Gathering Storm

Thor struck the finely inlaid table with both fists. "We have progressed no further on the kidnapping of my accomplice from Midgard. How can I return to Commander Fury and state I have lost the finest spy in nine realms?"

"Begging your pardon, Prince Thor, but we may have a breakthrough." Amora hid her joy as she spoke; under the table Sif found her knee and slipped sly fingers over the slim thighs of the enchantress. "I am developing new magic to discover a way through to Jotunheim. However, I must caution you a creature from that godsforsaken land is on the move. Every instinct tells me the frost giant who stole Natasha from us can now negotiate the way between the realms."

"He is not the only one." Breathing heavily, Thor leaned on his fists. "Our intelligence tells us there is an army from Svartelheim on the way."

"Svartelheim? They can't wipe their own bottoms, let alone forge an attack." Sif peeled up the silk dress and stroked the sensitive flesh inside Amora's thigh.

"However, they work in conjunction with Alfheim. Apparently one of the elf-maidens was stolen, just as Natasha was, by the Jotnar. During her imprisonment she expired in Jotunheim, and the Ljósálfar are furious." Thor sat and passed one massive hand over his face, clouded with trouble.

"Can we use that to our advantage, dreadful as the news is?" Amora sat forward. "We have something in common with Alfheim, after all. If we could reach the Ljósálfar through a backhand entry into Alfheim and negotiate for a diplomatic relationship, it would win us an ally. Svartelheim would be left on its own to flounder with lumps of gold and rocks, as they always do."

Sif nodded. "This makes sense."

"And," Amora continued, "I believe I have the way to travel without being seen. In company with Lady Sif, we have found the paths ourselves."

"But this is highly dangerous!" Thor's brows knit together.

"I can negotiate it with ease." Amora spoke with more confidence than she felt; it was ever her way.

"Could you bring an army?"

"Hardly. At the most I can bring one other. Sif is the most likely – we work well together, and her energies align with mine. She and I could go to Alfheim this afternoon, if you allow it."

Thor seemed to hide a smile. "Could you indeed? By the beard of the Allfather, I  _will_  allow it. I must caution you, however, to take great care - these are slippery, dangerous times we live in."

* * *

Laufey grunted at the servant and indicated her empty trencher; instantly the lad seized it and scuttled off. Farbouti shouted after the boy to return with more wine. The king had lost his nightly argument with Loki's mother, and thus Farbauti was the male that night; probably the sex switch wouldn't last long. One would batter the other into changing before the morning star arose over Jotunheim.

Natasha had refused to sit on Loki's lap any longer, and he noticed her shivering on the iron seat – so cold it probably sang in her bones. "At least the chair isn't carved from ice,' she whispered when he knitted his brows in concern. "Seriously, Loki - I'm not made of china, you know."

The table in front of him and his mate rattled; something clattered on the floor, and Natasha jumped away from spilled stew and splattered gravy. Helblindi had caused Loki's plate to fall again, the third time during the meal.

Loki gritted his teeth, picked up the trencher, and indicated to another servant to refill it; his brother wore a smug look of satisfaction. When more food was brought out, Helblindi reached for Loki's meat. Instantly Natasha caught the edge of the new plate, dragged it to her place away from Helblindi's grasping fingers, and picked up a piece of the roast. "Here, Prince," she cooed. "Allow me to serve you."

Loki felt gratified shock throughout his body. He winked at her and leaned forward so she could place the food between his lips; as he leaned back and chewed he saw Laufey and Farbauti exchange a glance.

As for his brother, Helblindi looked as sour as month-old yak milk. "Shall I dandle the infant runt myself?" the giant guffawed.

Natasha seemed to understand Helblindi's words. She ignored him to indicate her own food; Loki picked up on her intent instantly and lifted a tender piece of stew, steaming in the icy room. He and his mate grinned at each other, enjoying the momentary accord.

A sharp rap on his ankle destroyed the mood. Helblindi kicked him again under the table, pretending innocence. Loki knew if he started a fight Laufey would scourge him for it, but another kick made him suck in his breath with pain and anger. "Is something the matter, dear Loki?" his brother sang. "Are you uncomfortable at all?"

One tiny little blade, deadly and sharp as a sting, appeared in Natasha's hand. Casually she waved it under Helblindi's nose. "Bother my mate again," she said, clearly and fluently in the Jotun language, "and I'll cut both your balls off tonight as you sleep, stuff them down your throat, and tie your dick in a knot."

Helblindi froze. He looked to Farbauti, but their mother started to wheeze with laughter. "Balls!" Farbauti shouted. "Prick in a knot! By the snows of the Lost Mountains, Loki, you have captured a wild one. Well done, Natasha the Red!" This was followed by a huge bout of mirth and a clap on his mate's shoulder.

Loki felt warmth, more satisfying than that of any fire, shoot through his being. He had spent his entire life enduring the privations and insults his brother enjoyed, and Laufey always ignored them. "'Tis good for the runt,'" was his father's only reaction. To have someone stand up for him and so successfully was a concept he had never imagined, and he longed to take her upstairs for more of their 'fucking,' to use her word. He felt he could never get enough of his firebird's sweet quim.

Natasha sat back and chewed another piece of meat; she looked entirely unconcerned. "Tell me, Farbouti," she said. "When the Jotnar talk about a Center, what does they mean?"

Farbauti adjusted himself in his chair. "Jotunheim," Loki's mother answered in a deep, male voice, "is a circular realm. Once our center was filled by the Casket of Ancient Winters, but when the artifact was stolen by the foul Aesir the center melted. Since then our land is hollow, revolving around a wasteland of howling winds and echoing space. In short, we have lost our Center."

Stealing a look at Natasha, Loki thought he knew why she asked. It meant she thought of him, of what he said to her when they lay together in their furs. The unexpected happiness clamored within him once more, and he stole one arm around her waist.

"So," Farbouti continued as Natasha made a questioning sound, "since then we Jotnar have always searched for our centers. For me it is this maggot-ridden king over here." He punched Laufey's arm in a friendly fashion, and the female growled and snapped at him.

"There is no such thing," Helblindi announced. "Everyone knows it is hopeless to look for a center, not for Jotunheim nor within our own lives."

Loki longed to crow that he had found his center – it was embodied by the tiny, calm figure of his mate, listening with grave attention to Farbauti. She ignored Helblindi as if he had never spoken. "If you regained the Casket, would it restore this hollow core in your realm?" she asked.

Laufey nodded. "Aye, but many Jotnar have died trying to regain the relic. We might as well give it up as a lost cause." His female form was characteristically gloomy.

"That's enough out of you, Old Lady," Farbauti jeered. Loki's mother rose, seized Laufey, and hoisted her over his shoulder. Without another word the two of them left the room.

* * *

Loki could barely wait until he had Natasha upstairs. As soon as the door closed behind them he pulled the metal tab on her catsuit – what she called a 'zipper' – and dragged it down to release her breasts. "Lay with me," he begged.

Willingly Natasha pushed her sleeves down and jumped into his arms. "Did you hear?" she gasped in between his kisses. "If we can regain the Casket, it would recenter your realm. Do you think it can be done?"

"With you at my side, anything is possible." Loki suckled her sweet nipples, licked the valley between them. "And you asked Farbouti about the center – so curious, little one. Were you thinking of me?"

She favored him with her signature smile - mysterious and hidden, he felt it was meant for him only. "I wanted to know what you meant when you said I was your center," Natasha admitted. "But what – oh, Loki, your tongue feels amazing – what Farbauti told me…" Her words died in a breathy sigh.

Reverently he laid her out on the furs and licked to the warm core, to her own center. Persisting until she shrieked with ecstasy and quivered in release, Loki rode her through it. Ignoring his own member quivering with want for the pale pink slit hidden in her red curls, he leaned on her thigh and smiled at her. How young she looked, how innocent! Yet she was everything to him. "And did it give you ideas, little bird?"

"Yes, and I know you have the same idea." Natasha held out her arms, and with a groan of surrender Loki slid up between her legs to nuzzle her neck. "I was in the palace in Asgard, and I don't know where the casket was kept. But you could bargain for it with my life – offer to trade me for the artifact…"

Loki sat up, fear and outrage coursing through him. "Trade  _you?_  Never! I would never! Why would you - what did you – why would you say such a black thing?" Although he had put on the mortal face she seemed to enjoy, he felt his eyes turn red with rage. Unable to stop himself, he grasped her throat. "Why?" he shouted.

"Hey, calm down. It was just an idea." She ran her nails over his scalp, swiveled her slit under his length. "I just thought you could avoid a great deal of bloodshed that way. And by the way, stay blue this time. I want to fuck you – the real you."

"Natasha." Deliberately Loki put his tip into her and moved slowly in circles; he knew she liked the swollen feeling it gave her. Truth be told, it was torture to hold back, but he was determined to have her vows once more. "If you want me, you must promise yourself to me. I already told you as much." Tiny shadows danced in the corners of her eyes as he spoke. Yes, she had something secret planned, but his passion wouldn't let him consider what it might be. Lust roared through his mind, crowding out everything except the flames in his arms. "Tell me," he insisted.

"You heard me at dinner tonight." Natasha's long lashes fluttered over those wonderful blue eyes of hers. "I told Helblindi myself I am your mate, and you are mine. Loki, could you just please push it in a little bit more?"

Tortuously he allowed her more of him, not the full length she wanted. He grinned to feel her fingers on his ass as though she could pull him in with those small, tender hands. "Forever," he demanded. "We are bound together forever."

One tiny hitch in her throat, a hesitation so slight no one else would ever notice. "Forever," she promised.

He could hold back no longer; lust gripped his vitals. With a cry, Loki sank himself inside her, felt her legs wind around his waist as her strong arms clasped his back. She was lying to him – yes, he knew this - but he would find a way to hold her to those words. He had to.  _Had to._

There was no other choice.


	10. Helblindi's Folly

Amora tilted her face up as Sif massaged oil into her muscles. "That feels amazing," she purred.

"More amazing than my tongue?"

"Nothing is lovelier than that." Amora cupped Sif's chin, pulled her up, and drew her in for a long kiss; they stood breast to breast with the slickness of the oil between them. Amora had to go on her tiptoes to reach the warrior's lips and whisper in between lovebites, "I have a confession."

"Tell me." Sif took Amora's earlobe between her teeth.

"Our lovemaking – I did not do it only for the magic. I have wanted you since I first arrived in Asgard, years ago."

Sif held her back at arms' length. "Why did you not tell me earlier? I could never resist you for my part, your intelligence and beauty outshine the entire court."

"Because…" Amora hesitated. "Perhaps it is difficult to separate desire from warlust in you at times, Sif. Your eyes shine when you look at me, but they glint before an enemy's sword as well."

"Ah. That is because I consider you a realm to be conquered. I want every part of you."

Amora shook her head. "Conquered? No. Although I am yours now and always will be, I keep my own sovereignty. I determined thus when I was forced out of the Norns because of those desires I hid from myself – my lust for women was considered unnatural. Forbidden."

With a sudden movement Sif lifted the enchantress up into her arms and deposited her on the bed. "Forbidden? The feel of your sweet, oiled skin against mine is so lovely it should indeed be outlawed. Kiss me, Amora, and know I will have every inch of you as mine."

Amora wound her fingers in Sif's long, straight hair – blond as her own curls – and sank her teeth into her lover's throat. She undulated down Sif's body, pausing to tongue the small, perfect breasts, the muscled belly, those lean flanks, and the elegant slit. Within awaited a musky odor that was pure Sif:  _Delicious,_  Amora thought as she suckled there and flicked her tongue over the hidden pearl. Ah, so gently at first, so soft Sif would barely be able to feel it, exploring with her fingers in the secret passage, grinning as Sif cried out and spurted an explosion of lust. It was their lawless dance, and Amora vowed she would never hold back.

Sif twisted and pulled Amora up to mount her; the warrior slapped her rounded bottom hard enough to sting. Amora gasped and collapsed onto her, pulled Sif in for a passionate kiss to explore her mouth, her breath – every inch, as Sif had vowed. Her oiled skin slicked quickly with their combined juices. She got one, two, three fingers inside and edged Sif close with her thumb. Not too hard as some men did, just the right pressure to – ah!

Another spurt of desire from Sif's mossy little mount, and Amora brought her dripping fingers to her mouth. "Your taste," she moaned.

"I…" Sif's eyes glistened in the lamplight. "Forgive me – I don't know why I do it. My body betrays me thus when I am fevered with love. Isn't it disgusting?"

"Disgusting?" Amora laughed as Sif locked her heels around Amora's back. "I love it, oh so very much. Don't cry, sweetheart – and don't you dare hold back."

"Oh." Sif's hips snapped forward in an escalating rhythm, and with Amora's hand and her musk between them, the two pounded each other into a long series of shared release.

After they recovered their breath, Sif pillowed Amora's head on her shoulder. "Is the magic working?" she whispered.

Amora grinned. "Yes. Our lovemaking has taken me to a whole new level. I know now how to open the realms whenever you are ready."

* * *

Loki awoke already inside Natasha; it seemed his firebird had been overcome with desire during the night and had climbed on top of him. At once he pulled her in for more. More and more – would he ever have enough? It seemed his wanting her grew deeper and needier each day.

A series of shouts outside in the passage stopped them; Loki froze, shivering between her thighs. He was so close to the final throes, and she was as well. He could sense it.

"She should be mine!" someone howled. Helblindi, off in another of his rages.

Was he mewling about Natasha? Blinded with rage and desire, Loki vaulted off the bed with her clinging to his waist. His prick seated firmly within her cunt, he crashed open the door to see his brother and Laufey – once again in his masculine form – shouting at each other.

"Fuck off!" Loki was completely incensed. "If you mean Natasha, she is my mate."

"We've already explained this," Natasha added in perfect Jotnar, calm as a queen riding a howdah. "And as you can see, you've interrupted me and Loki – again."

Helblindi struck the wall with one fist so massive it dislodged a large stone. "I don't care about tradition. I don't care if she is yours. _I_ want her."

"Enough," Laufey snapped. "I'll be damned if I am woken in the middle of the night to address your tantrums. Get back to bed, Helblindi, and for Skaði's sake find another mate."

"No!" Helbldindi launched himself forward, got Laufey around the waist, and bore them both onto the floor of the passage. Surprised by the attack, Laufey fell heavily, and his head crashed onto the smooth, icy rock. The king seemed to go through a reactive spasm: his limbs shook, the red eyes rolled back, and his jaw hinged shut on his tongue so sharply blood coursed over his jaw.

The fit passed, and the red eyes grew dull, lifeless. Laufey, it appeared, was no more.

Loki was frozen for several moments. At last he helped Natasha descend from his body as gently as he could. "You've killed him," Natasha accused.

Helblindi looked at her, and a sharp cunning swam over his pupils. "I have," he agreed. "This means I am now king of Jotunheim, and my word is law. You will surrender your pet to me, runtling, and she will be mine from henceforth. I claim the strength of kings – you shan't be able to fight me and win now. Surrender her to me, and my thanks for readying her body for my lust…"

The scene actually seemed to shadow and turn black in front of Loki's vision; he had never experienced such roaring anger. With rage curdling in his ears, nose, and lungs, he held up one palm; a green, glowing beam shot out and enveloped his brother's entire body. Helblindi shook within it for several seconds, his face filled with agony…

The light died. And with it, Helblindi slid to the floor beside Laufey. Both he and his father were gone.

"That was a short reign," Loki said with satisfaction.

* * *

He bore the bodies of his father and brother to another room and secured it against discovery; Loki had no more than several hours to prepare the throne for his rule. Natasha would be his queen, and together they would create a new future for his realm.

When he returned, she was dressed in her strange bodysuit and boots. "What do you need me to do?" she asked in a quiet tone.

Loki nodded; his firebird was perfect, instantly ready to move with him through the next phase. "I am considered a runt, an outcast. Do you understand this? If I announced Helblindi's murder of Laufey and my defense of the king, the guards would riot. The entire realm would be thrown into chaos rather than accept me as their ruler."

Natasha stepped close and spread her hands over his chest. "Tell me," she said.

"We need to find the Casket of Ancient Winters  _now,"_  he whispered into her ear. "If I can bring it with me to the throne, it will herald peace instead of war. It is the only way."

Her gaze was sharp and intelligent; Natasha closed her eyes for a moment as though she experienced some overwhelming sadness. "I see," she murmured. "Will you take me with you? I can fight at your side and, should it come to it, I can convince the Asgardian warriors to trade for the casket."

Something was wrong with what she said, but Loki was filled with overwhelming excitement. Helblindi had been a constant torment since his first memories; he was overjoyed to be free of his brother. As for Laufey, the king had been completely cold in any dealing with the 'runtling.' Loki would mourn him in public, but privately he felt very little emotion at their deaths.

Farbauti, on the other hand, would be a different matter. She would fill the ice tower with her grief, but Loki could deal with that later.

Natasha's voice broke into his thoughts. "Can you open the passage to the Casket now for both of us?"

"Yes." Confidence in his abilities was a rushing river, forging new strength within him. Loki laughed and spread out his arms, preparing to open a ribbon of possibility between his realm and Asgard.

One small tug on his shoulder stopped him. "Please," Natasha said. "Just for luck, Loki. Will you kiss me first?"

Loki chuckled again and swept her into his arms. "They interrupted us, did they not? My little bird, when we return victorious I will have sex with you all night. No - I mean to say we will do the Fucking, as long as you want. Will you like that?"

"Yes," Natasha replied in between breathless kisses. "Yes, I would like that."

* * *

Space and dimension folded themselves outwards from his magic like the negative version of an ice dance. He found the possibility of voyage between the realms and opened that change-within-chance; as soon as the portal was prepared Loki wound his arms around Natasha and rushed them inside. They were swept into a dizzying series of past and future and now, all combined together, along with far and near.

And the ravens: Loki hadn't bargained on the ravens. Dark birds wheeled overhead, blips of accusing reality in his illusion. They called to him, and he found he could understand the birds' cries:  _Beware. End. Darkness. Death. Beware._ Thus shouted the ravens, but Loki paid no heed.

"This is crazy." Natasha's voice echoed in the space, both tiny and vast; she seemed exhilarated by the wild magic. Probably her cunt shivered with the desire his enchantment gave her, and he longed to finish their lovemaking so ignominiously interrupted by Helblindi, that pig-swine. Loki was enchanted by her courage in walking the realms with him, no questions asked, no complaints, no frail excuses.  _She will be a perfect queen,_  he thought.

The ravens interlocked overhead and became a fractal pattern, a solid mass, a dark door. Loki realized they were no longer in the uncertainty of Froðaspace; instead they stood in front of a massive vault within an echoing system of tunnels. "Asgard," he breathed in Natasha's ear.

She nodded and indicated the lock on the door. "Magic holds it, I'm pretty sure," she whispered. "I can't pick it for you, even if I had a set of tumbler pins."

He nodded and allowed a thread of enchantment to squeeze inside the lock, convince the magic, pulleys, and liquids inside to undo themselves without exploding. The entire door was a trap, and Loki wove the threads within the fabric of the vault itself so the metal and stone unfolded to admit them entrance.

The door opened, and Loki saw they stood at the top of a stone staircase. Carefully he and Natasha descended to a plinth where the Casket waited as it had for centuries; his heart gave a queer bound at the sight. "Don't touch it," he muttered to her.

"All yours, dude." Natasha spoke cheerfully, but she hid some secret sadness. He had no time to discover what it was; Loki planned to kiss her sorrow away later. Yes, later.

They approached the Casket; Loki unfurled a long spool of prayers to Skaði and his hands shook as he palmed the sacred artifact.  _By the snows of Karongar!_  he exulted silently. It had actually happened, and everything was now possible. Jotunheim would come back to life. Natasha was his. Helblindi was no more, and Loki was the new King.

"Stop." A low voice at the top of the stone steps.

Loki and Natasha both turned to see two women, both with golden hair. One he recognized, the curly-tressed enchantress. So she had found her way out of the iced torment Helblindi had laid on her! Well, she would have to step aside if she didn't want to return to that cold Hel…

"I have placed a protection upon the realm," the enchantress stated. "You came in by the power of the scrolls, but you cannot leave."

"Then I will destroy Asgard and you with it." Loki spoke with utmost certainty. The power surged throughout his body, making his heart beat in his throat and raising the long prick between his legs.  _When we return,_  he vowed,  _Natasha will have her satisfaction again and again._  Loki felt he could never have enough.

"No." Natasha stepped forward, avoiding Loki's eyes. "There will be no destroying of realms. You and Sif are involved in another war, isn't that right?"

The one with long, straight hair seemed surprised. "How did you…" She closed her lips tightly.

"I've been in too many wars not to recognize the signs – your weapons are at the ready, you carry more than enough to take down the first line of a regiment, and you have a general attitude of wariness. Let's come to an agreement before we destroy each other."

"No agreement," Loki hissed. "Natasha, come to my side! We will take the Casket and return, or these two will suffer."

"I am quite as strong as you, Jotun," the enchantress stated. "You will be the one to suffer."

"Oh, just shut up about suffering and chaos!" Natasha said angrily. "Listen to my bargain. Loki gets to keep his Casket – it returns to Jotunheim here and now."

"We cannot do that, Natasha." It was the one with straight hair, braided in a long snake as thick as Natasha's arm.

"Sif, what if I guaranteed he uses it only on his realm? Never as a weapon against Asgard?"

"How will you do that?" The enchantress and Loki both asked the question at the same time.

Natasha shrugged. "Simple. I stay here as bait. If Jotunheim ever uses the Casket against you, my life is forfeit."

"No!" Loki shouted. "No part of this – you – no …" His words seemed to fail him as he saw it was what she had planned all along. Hence her sadness and the request for one last kiss.

"I accept the forfeit," Amora announced. She nodded firmly and sketched a figure in the air.

Loki watched in horror as the space unfolded behind him. For a moment Natasha and the two golden-haired women hung in front of him like a picture; it was a split second and eternity at the same moment. Time meant nothing, and all he knew was lightning reflexes and a terrible, overriding anger. Natasha's mouth moved in a desperate attempt to say some final farewell; did she say the word 'center?' He couldn't hear over the cries of the ravens:  _Beware. End. Darkness. Death. Beware._

His mind cleared, and he suddenly realized how he could hurt her and display his own sorrow in one final action. Loki hawked back as roughly as he could and spat at the dwindling brightness that was his firebird.

The ravens circled overhead as space and time vomited him back into his own room inside the ice tower. Loki stood there, terribly alone, with the Casket of Ancient Winters in his hands.


	11. Stockholm Effect

Wiping Loki's spittle from her cheek, Natasha took several impetuous steps towards the ravens. "Hey!" she shouted. "It was the only way!" The dark birds wheeled and darted in complex patterns, resolved into a dark mass. Loki's face, filled with overwhelming sorrow and absolute fury, was just visible between their feathers. Just as she reached him, the ravens crowded together and became a dark shadow that melted under her fingerprints.

She screamed for him to listen again and again - that he had to understand, that she had to return to her own life - until two figures seized her from behind. Dimly aware of Sif's arms around her and Amora covering her mouth, Natasha tried to shout again, but the cries of the ravens drowned it out.

* * *

She came to herself in a silk-covered bed, lying under the sheets in her catsuit. Natasha sat up, jumped out of bed, and flung open the door. Amora stood in the hall, and when she saw Natasha the enchantress smiled. "Awake so soon? I'll have your breakfast brought in."

Natasha ignored the offer of food. "How can I return to Jotunheim? And when?"

Amora put her hand gently on Natasha's arm and drew her back into the chamber; it was the same one where they had studied the scrolls together. How much time had past? Natasha wondered suddenly. It seemed like years – eons.

"Natasha, I must explain something. There is something we call the Unwinding - a dissolution in the corporeal form." Amora guided Natasha to the same table where they had studied together and drew out a chair. "It is said prisoners sometimes come to love their jailers more dearly than their old lives, and freedom sometimes arrives as a terrible blow."

With a sudden plonk, Natasha sat in the seat and swiped her face with both hands. "We call it Stockholm Effect in Midgard," she said in a low voice.

"Ah. So you are aware of it." Amora beckoned, and a young man entered with a tray. It was filled with fruit, new bread, some kind of fragrant tea, and a sizzling steak under a heap of buttered mushrooms. "Eat, and get your strength back. I have a favor to ask you, but I want to wait until you are better…"

"Favor?" Natasha ignored the food. "Does that mean a job?" She covered Amora's wrist with eager fingers. "For Chrissake, give me something to do. I've been idle long enough – it'll kill me to waft around here being served trays and being dressed in gowns and jewels." She looked closer at the enchantress and frowned. "Actually, you're different. Something's changed."

Amora sat back and her lips twitched slightly. "We do indeed have a job for you, and a most vital one. But first…" She rose and held out her hand; Natasha took it and was guided to stand in front of an ornate mirror on a swinging stand in the corner of the room. In silence she regarded herself – the wild hair, curled and knotted as though she had spent all day in the saddle, eyes electric with despair, skin browned slightly from skiing – she looked wild, savage, untamed. "Perhaps a bath first?" Amora murmured.

"Yeah, okay. Maybe a bath would be good."

* * *

After a long soak in a huge tub, Natasha brushed her hair out with impatient strokes and climbed into the gown left out for her. It had matching armor to fit over her shoulders, like most of the clothes on Asgard. As she clamped on the metal Natasha was reminded of the armbands Loki had given her, that magical night they spent together truly making love for the first time. "Stop it," she told herself fiercely. "Just stop."

 _Unwinding._  Yes, she had been unwound – now she simply had to get it together again.

* * *

Amora and Sif waited for her in the long hallway, and they conducted Natasha down flights of glittering stairs to an immense meeting chamber filled with gilded statues, stone pillars, and one table the size of a bowling alley. Thor sat there, flanked by several solemn figures. As soon as he saw Natasha he rose and held out his arms.

There were no words left. Natasha ran across the room, grabbed Thor by the waist, and tried to hold back absurd tears. He clasped her close and stroked her back, fingers curling into her neck as though he soothed a child.

"This is the Midgardian?" a deep voice asked.

"Forgive me, Ambassador Svaðilfari." Thor turned to one of the beings next to him at the table. "This is indeed Natasha Romanov – you must forgive our manners. She has just been returned to us from Jotunheim. Natasha, this is the new ambassador from Alfheim. He requested this parlay so we could speak together."

The Ambassador rose, took Natasha's hand in his, and bent over it. His long hair, so pale it looked silver, was soft on her skin as he kissed her fingers. "So we hear in Alfheim. The Ljósálfar rejoiced at your return, Lady Romanov."

Thor sat, and the Ambassador held out a chair for Natasha between him and the thunder god. As Sif and Amora took their seat on the other side of the table, Natasha saw the enchantress brush Sif's knee quickly with her thumb. Obviously she couldn't bear to keep her hands off her new lover.  _So it was like that between them!_  No wonder Amora glowed from within as though a lantern had been lit inside her.

"Ambassador Svaðilfari wished to meet you as soon as you were ready," Thor continued when they were all settled. "Would you mind answering some questions about your imprisonment?"

This was familiar ground: debriefing after trauma. Natasha nodded firmly and turned to the ambassador, her eyebrows raised slightly in query. "Lady, did you hear of an elf-maiden held in Jotunheim, also as a prisoner?" Svaðilfari asked.

"Yes. I'm very sorry to inform you she's dead. It was at her own hand – she exposed herself to the Jotun winds in order to escape her existence there."

Svaðilfari closed his eyes briefly, and his mouth became a firm line. "She was my sister's child. Her name was Yngvidr, named for our mother."

 _Crap._  "I'm sorry," Natasha began.

"Who brought her there?" Despite the light hair, his eyes were dark as a well at midnight, and Natasha thought she could cut her skin on his high cheekbones. Despite his cold facade, she could tell passion lurked under Svaðilfari's icy facade. He had an arrogant tilt of his head that reminded her, like a punch to the gut, of Loki. "Who shall we execute for this crime, Lady Romanov?"

She didn't move under his touch. "I'm pretty sure it was Helblindi who stole Yngvidr. In any case he kept her in Jotunheim anyway, against her will."

"Ah." Svaðilfari released her and sat back in his seat. "We shall find and execute this Helblindi."

"He's already been killed." Natasha thought of the beam of green light Loki had flung at his brother, of Helblindi's huge body falling onto the icy floor like a felled beast.

"Truly? Who wreaked the revenge, so we may laud this hero?" Svaðilfari's dark eyes flashed.

Natasha forced herself to speak normally in a calm tone. "That would be Loki, the current king of Jotunheim."

* * *

Just saying his name during the Asgardian version of a debriefing brought it all back: the way Loki ordered her to tell him a saga, his passion in the furs, his delight in kissing as a new activity. In her room Natasha shuddered as a rush of images overwhelmed her: black hair spilling over blue skin. White teeth as he smiled at her. Passion in his eyes. The tender note as he called her 'little bird.' The dismay in his face when she escaped him, followed by anger when he spat at her through the murder of ravens.

Those memories forced her to make her apologies as soon as she could and leave the meeting in the huge chamber.

In her own room Natasha sat, not moving, as several handmaidens dressed her and curled her hair for that evening's banquet. She was laced into another gown, more ornate than the first but still complete with touches of armor 'to fit your status as a warrior,' one of the women explained. Silk slippers of dull gold went on her feet, and jewels set in bands of silver went on her wrists, neck, fingers, in her ears.

"I'll finish here. You may all take your leave." The voice came behind her, and when Natasha heard Amora's command she looked up. The enchantress compelled her to stand and circled her, twitching skirts and repositioning a few tendrils on Natasha's neck. Satisfied, she nodded. "Svaðilfari will be eclipsed. He requested to be seated near you at dinner."

Natasha nodded. It was life as usual – back to charming alliances and outwitting enemies. She was good at it. She could do it. She  _would_ do it. Action, a job: those were the things she needed.

Amora never dropped her gaze, and with one sudden movement she kissed Natasha's mouth, as she had so long ago before the kidnapping, before Jotunheim. "You have been compromised," the enchantress said. licking her full lips. "It was you who gave magic to the Jotun, was it not?"

"I can't talk about him just yet." Natasha wrest her hand out of Amora's and walked to the window seat to look out over the shining city with unseeing eyes. "I'm sorry, but I just can't."

"I am worried about you. Remember I cautioned you to control your erotic urges? Yet you used them with the Jotun to access magic. I know this – I could sense it right away as soon as it happened, even realms away."

"It was so natural," Natasha said in a low voice. "He learned the spells instantly – all I had to do was read the passage and he picked right up on the illusions. Together we opened the passage to Asgard."

"And you lay with him," Amora pressed.

"Yes."

"But the frost giants are animals…"

"No." Natasha shook her head, heedless of the ornate hairpins and curls in her hair. "No, Amora – they aren't. That's where you and all of Asgard are wrong. Loki was tender, worried for his people, and overwhelmingly intelligent. The Jotnar are dying - did you know that? The casket was their source of energy, and when it was stolen from them they had to scratch a living out in snow and ice. And yet they still create beauty even now – alien and strange, but beauty nonetheless." She thought of the ice dance, of what happened after, and she had to turn away from the enchantress.

"Laufey stabbed the last Allfather in his eye," Amora declared. "The giant taunted Odin, saying he'd look like a salt cod hung up from the drying racks."

"For no reason? Just walked right up and said, Hey there, and poked his eye out?"

Amora sighed. "Many Jotnar and Aesir died in that fight," she admitted. "Perhaps the frost giant had his reasons. Still, this bond you have created with – what is his name? Loki? – will overtake you. I can see it already. Sharing magic creates desire for more. You will suffer for his touch, you will yearn for him. It is ever the consequence of creating spells with another…"

Natasha shook her head. "Stop. I – I already know all this. I'll deal, don't worry. Plus, we should be concentrating on your wars with Svartelheim, instead of veering off on these side distractions. I'll talk Svaðilfari into giving you an army, and then I'll go home to Midgard."

"I'm not worried about you," Amora said. "You are very strong - I can sense it. No, it is the Jotnar I think of. While you yearn for his touch, he will do the same. And with such unprincipled Jotun sensibilities, I fear for what will happen when he follows his desires, and may the Norns protect us when that happens." She raised her hands, and a flurry of tiny, blue lights emerged from her fingertips to circle Natasha's head like a living, twinkling crown. "There," she added with satisfaction. "You will shine like a star in the dining chambers."

* * *

Svaðilfari never blinked as Natasha approached. He handed her into her seat with formality. During course after course of meats, fowl, fish, and sweets, the ambassador preserved an emotionless front as the company spoke and laughed in formal, patterned discourse. He described the palace of Alfheim to her, a complex tangle of spiraled towers and twisting pillars. "It seems like a tangle," he explained, "but there is logic within, a pattern. I believe you would call it mathematical, but of course we term it magical."

Natasha felt a sluggish flicker of interest. "It sounds lovely."

"Perhaps one day I may show it to you."

She glanced at him, his dark eyes intent on hers. Under a silver circlet, his silver hair cascaded over powerful shoulders and a smooth column of neck, contrasting strangely with dark, heavy brows. The crown was set with spiked stones, all flashing with a rainbow of colors under the hanging lamps in the chamber. Svaðilfari's long coat was spotless white, with buttons carved from the same stones in a myriad of shapes: toads, spiders, a tiny cat lying on the whisk of a broom. Long fingers crumbled a roll of bread; the ambassador had eaten little of the elaborate dinner. In any other circumstance she would have found him attractive, if he hadn't been so cold and devoid of emotion.

Natasha hid her sadness as the memory of Loki pulling her into his lap with impetuous arms seared through her, and she nearly whistled with pain. She wanted to run away and find a huge bottle of vodka instead of the everlasting, overly-sweet mead.

Thor rose to his feet and lifted a huge, golden goblet. "To the new alliance with Alfheim," he said before drinking the contents. The ambassador never moved, appearing as a silver and black statue among the glittering crowd of Aesir. Across the table, Sif watched him closely, and she bit her lower lip. Obviously the army from Alfheim was important to the shield-maiden's interests.

Once Natasha had been a foremost assassin, a feared spy. Those old habits came to her rescue, and she looked through her lashes at Svaðilfari, unerring instinct telling her it was time to seal the deal.  _"Is_  there a new alliance?" she asked, her voice breathy.

His dark eyes danced lightly over Natasha's neck, lips, and the crown of blue lights Amora had put in her hair. Svaðilfari lifted his cup and touched it to hers, never dropping his gaze as he drank. "I believe there is," he murmured.

Perhaps he was not so emotionless after all.


	12. Svaðilfari

Breakfast was a series of exquisite bowls filled with different fruits, pastries, and stews of what looked like mushrooms in golden sauce as well as other vegetables Natasha couldn't recognize. A gilded platter filled with steaming roast beef was brought around the table, and Thor helped himself to several flanks of meat.

Svaðilfari sat to her right. He entered the chamber after the meal had begun and whispered into Thor's ear before taking his seat next to Natasha. During her travels Natasha always tried local cuisine, refusing to be the kind of traveler who sought out McDonalds in Paris. Deliberately she selected a few of the more exotic, unrecognizable dishes: tentacled fruit with a pungent flavor, a delicious soup of purple vegetables. "The meals are huge, is that not so?" Svaðilfari murmured in her ear. His plate was empty except for one thin slice of bread, delicately toasted.

"I must say this is defeating me." Natasha indicated the fruit. "Are we meeting today to discuss war plans?"

A rather surprised glint came into his eyes.  _Too bad, Ambassador,_  Natasha thought.  _If war is on the horizon, it's time to get down to business._  "I thought we could visit the stables together first," he hedged.

She managed to suppress her triumph. At that moment, Natasha knew she had him and all the warriors Alfheim could supply to Asgard. "There are young soldiers being slaughtered on the battlefield as we eat in luxury." Deliberately she reached for what looked like a purple orange and divided it into sections before handing him one. "We must think of them before our pleasure, Ambassador."

The elf was the last word in elegance, but when faced with her fingers holding out a morsel for him to taste, Svaðilfari lost his calm. His face bobbed back in surprise before he opened his lips and allowed her to place the segment on his tongue.

Silence seemed to have come over the table. Amora watched shamelessly, one dimple appearing at the corner of her mouth, and Sif tilted up her chin. Svaðilfari chewed, wiped his mouth with a blindingly white napkin, and rose to his feet. "Prince Thor, Alfheim will be most happy to lend our assistance in the current skirmish."

Thor's knife dropped from his hands, spraying grease over the tablecloth. "Truly?" He cleared his throat and nodded. "Ah, that is – of course, Ambassador." The prince seemed to recover, rose to his feet, and held up a huge tankard of ale. "To the newly forged alliance between our realms!"

Sif, Amora, and Natasha joined him in the toast. When the prince was seated once more, he glowed with happiness as he reached for more meat. Sif immediately began to lay out plans for revising their battle plans with the additional forces, using the end of her spoon dipped in wine to illustrate her points on the cloth. Amora leaned close, absorbed in Sif's ideas. Svaðilfari took the chance to whisper, "And now we may waste no more time in diplomacy. Will you come with me to the stables this morning?"

She assented, reflecting Svaðilfari was more like Loki than she first thought.

* * *

Natasha refused the ridiculous riding outfit set aside for her: fitted dress with long skirt, tight jacket with hundreds of buttons, tall hat with an actual veil.  _Veil!_  She only wished Loki could be there to laugh at it with her. Her snort of mirth snuffed with the memory of the Jotun king, she kept the riding boots and found a pair of jeans in her own backpack. Paired with an exquisitely tailored white shirt, she was ready to head out.

With a sigh of relief Natasha headed outside to the stables. Winter drew to a close in Asgard, but the sky still glowered with heavy clouds. Ice splintered under her boot heels, and the threat of snow seemed to make the atmosphere lower, as though she walked inside a glass globe. Away from the court it was quiet without the constant background of fountains, lutes, madrigals, and gossip. Only a few caws from a dark bird wheeling overhead disturbed her reverie.

"Lady Romanov." Svaðilfari appeared from a clump of what looked like yew bushes and held out one arm. As she took it, Natasha thought again how handsome he was. The ambassador wore a long, close coat of blue broadcloth over riding breeches. Like her, he also had on riding boots. His, however, went over the knee and were polished to gleam like the blade of a dagger.

"Ambassador. Do you ride much when you are in Alfheim?"

"It is one of my passions." One hand on her waist, Svaðilfari showed her into the stables and reclaimed her hand so they could walk between the long line of cavalry mounts. "My father put me on horseback when I was a child, and some say I never really climbed down."

A hint of humor. Natasha smiled as she was expected to do, ruminating over the differences between Svaðilfari and Loki. One was politeness personified, a walking etiquette book dressed in faultlessly tailored clothes. The other was all fire and passion, spilling over into violent jealousy and unhinged desire with his furs slipping off his slim hips. Certainly she knew which she herself resembled more, although she thought she might have a touch of Svaðilfari in her as well.

Still, if she had the chance to return to Jotunheim, would she take it? Natasha dropped Svaðilfari's arm to visit one quiet mare, unsure of the answer to her own question. As she stroked the horse's noble nose she was able to hide her face in its neck.

"You are sad." Svaðilfari's voice was calm, stating a fact.

Natasha shook her head, letting her old self-possession reclaim her.  _Never show what was within. You can never betray your feelings if you have no emotions at all._  "Of course not," she replied smoothly. "I'm having a lovely morning with you, after all."

"No, you are melancholy. The horses can sense it. See how this foal turns his head to follow us as we walk past?" He stopped his slow pace and looked into her eyes. "Are you still experiencing anger from your abduction? Dreams, perhaps? Or fear?"

"Ambassador…"

"You can tell me. I know we have just met, but I promise you can trust me." Svaðilfari's eyes were large and dark as a summer's night without stars.

"I do still think about it," she said in a low voice. He didn't respond beyond pressing her fingers where they lay on his arm. "On Midgard there is something called Stockholm Syndrome," Natasha admitted. "I may have a touch of it."

"Could you explain this so I could understand?"

Loki would never have asked like that. 'You will tell me this saga…' That was more his style. For a moment she felt she stood between two beings, both aggressively male and utterly alien, yet complete opposites at the same time. "It is a condition felt by some kidnapping victims," she explained. "Alone and separated from all they know, it's possible to form a close alliance with the very ones who have stolen them in the first place."

"Ah." He nodded. "Some of our own kind have suffered the same ordeal, always to tragic ends. Have you been given cordials, the proper spells, realignment of your enchantments?"

Natasha shook her head. "No, nothing like that."

"Child, you must. Continuing with a magical imbalance could be devastating."

She couldn't help smiling. "Child?" she asked.

"To me you seem very young. Come, the grooms are waiting."

* * *

Svaðilfari rode as though he were part of the stallion under him. Natasha was a competent rider, but she had a difficult time keeping up as he set up a punishing pace down one of the roads leading away from the palace. She rose in her stirrups and murmured to her mare, and the horse responded instantly.

It was like skiing with Loki, only not as inhibited. After all, riding meant one had to put the horse first always. In contrast the Skaði trails had been a complete surrender to her own wild nature. She had forgotten everything that day except the snow, movement, and the wild blue Jotun leading the way.

At length Svaðilfari pulled up and pointed to the edge of the forest. "Regard the birds. Have you ever seen so many of them together in one place?" he asked.

Ahead of them, a huge cloud of dark birds wheeled and settled in the branches. "Wow, it's like The Birds," Natasha blurted. "Sorry, it's a movie in my world. A saga."

Loki would have demanded she tell him the story at once, but Svaðilfari merely nodded. "It is strange to see so many ravens at once. Perhaps it is the cold making them gather together in search of sustenance."

"Did you say ravens?" A chill ran down her back, and it had nothing to do with the weather. Would Loki really try to find her in Asgard and bring her back? "Perhaps we should return to the palace. I need to speak with Sif and Thor about battle plans."

Obediently he turned the stallion and cantered next to her. "Will you stay in Asgard long?"

"Actually, I need to return to Midgard as soon as possible. Fury must be truly living up to his name by now – uh, he's my commander. Um, boss…leader…"

"I understand, Natasha." Svaðilfari threw her a piercing look. "And will you visit us in Alfheim? It would give me great pleasure."

He had just offered up an extremely valuable army to Asgard, and there was no other answer she could give. "Of course. I'd love to see the castle in the woods and all your realm."

"This is good." Svaðilfari nodded.

* * *

The fire in her hearth burned low when Natasha returned to her room. A tiny clock on the mantel showed the hour, so late her eyes burned with exhaustion. The night had been filled with strategy followed by yet another state dinner. After the banquet Thor ushered them all into a large room filled with musicians, and she had spent most of the night whirling and dancing in Svaðilfari's arms.

As soon as she approached the fireplace, one flame shot up. Natasha stared, wondering if her tiredness gotten the better of her. Because a vision of Loki stood among the coals, his arms crossed and head thrown back with severe anger. How could she ever forget that arrogant stance of his? One soft sob tumbled from her lips as she got on her knees to approach the flames. Natasha reached out, her fingers yearning to touch him – but of course, it was impossible. The entire thing was impossible.

Flickering in the shifting flames, Loki's face seemed to become even more severe.  _You betray me with the elf,_  he said. She could see his lips move and read the words he spoke.

"No." Natasha shook her head. "It's just a job, nothing more. We have to secure Asgard against an enemy – once that's done I'm going home."

His chin rose higher.  _Is that so?_  Never had she seen him so disapproving, so cold. When they had been together, the Jotun prince had always displayed nothing but passion at her side, and she shivered to see the dark fury in his face. It came from misery, from their separation. Natasha knew it as surely as she knew what she felt with every cell…

"I really wish things could be different." Her words sounded completely lame, even to herself, ripped right out of a bad soap opera's script. "If I had come to Jotunheim as my own choice, Loki, I would have stayed. I already explained this to you!" A thread of anger lit as she sat back on her heels. After all, she was the victim. He simply had to understand she had to be her own person. Independent. No one could make her decisions for her.

_You say it is a job?_  He flung her words back in her face.  _Behold my job._  Loki beckoned to someone at his side, and he was joined by a Jotun female. She must have been young, for small as he was for a Jotun, he lifted her easily into his arms.  _Farewell, Natasha._

Loki carried the female and stepped out of the circle of flames. Natasha leaned forward, trying to catch one last glimpse. Only when a twig popped did she realize the fire was burning the hem of her gown.

Once more, Natasha was alone.


	13. Freezing Rain

With the Alfheim forces secured for Asgard, there was no reason to stay in the realm any longer. Amora came into her chamber and sat on the bed as Natasha jammed her few belongings into a small bag provided by Sif: Thor's gift of a priceless dagger, a series of documents for Fury's desk, and a small drawstring pouch from the royal treasury. It contained several clear stones in flashing colors, as well as a thick helping of gold coins, all payment for Natasha's services. She had protested at the amount, but Thor shook his head and pressed the jewels into her hand. Fury would be very happy with the amount the lot would bring on the open market.

The magic scrolls were long gone, abandoned in Jotunheim where they would stay. In any case, Natasha was determined to be done with any hint of magic. Even the short bout of playing with its mystery had ripped her life apart.

"You should stay longer," Amora blurted. "I can protect you here, but on Midgard you will be totally alone."

"I'm used to it." Natasha squinted at the dagger, polished it on her sleeve, and stowed it at the top of her bag. Probably she wouldn't need it on her journey, but it never hurt to be ready. "And I'm well used to taking care of myself."

"Aren't you going to bring this?" Amora picked up a bracelet made of heavy silver links. A likeness of a rearing horse dangled from one end. "Svaðilfari's gift, was it not?"

Natasha touched the lovely thing with one finger. It would be rude to leave it behind, and the ambassador would expect to see it on her wrist as she said goodbye to the court. There was no memento from Jotunheim, of course, besides a damaged psyche. Her nostrils flared as she did up the intricate catch.  _Agent Romanov – doing her job, no matter what the cost._

Amora's hand, slender and elegant with childish dimples over the knuckles, slid onto Natasha' knee. "I count you among my friends," the enchantress said simply. "If you ever need me, all you have to do is tell Heimdall. Sif would tell you the same, I am certain of it."

The air glowed around Amora's glorious face as she spoke the name of her lover. Natasha tried to restrain her instant reaction, flinching away from the sight of happiness and developing love. Of course Amora noticed right away – her beauty harbored a canny intelligence one wouldn't suspect in such a gorgeous specimen of Viking femininity. "We are bedding each other," she whispered, "but it is forbidden in this realm. It is not as though Sif and I can hope to grow old happily together, Natasha."

"Midgard isn't a perfect society either, but in a few years I think civil unions for all couples will be legal in the US, at least. If you and Sif ever want to visit, I can offer you a bed. Well, a couch. If you want, we can all go and drink at a gay bar, and you can be with your lover out in the open…" Natasha choked on the rest of her words. There was no such place for her and Loki, no impending legislation to help her affair with the Jotun. The real problem lay in his impetuous nature and her fierce independence, and that wasn't even the real kicker. The very personality flaws that had driven her to run away from him and for Loki to steal her in the first place were what drew them together so fiercely.

So basically, Natasha admitted to herself, she was fucked.

* * *

Manhattan retained a sulky hold on winter even though it was already March. Natasha negotiated icy puddles in her inadequate sneakers to lug home several bags of groceries. It was her version of survival: alcohol, new weapons, and bullets to go with them. By the time she got everything out, inspected the new pieces, made notes to retrofit them to her specs, she realized she was hungry and there was no food in place except for half a box of stale Cheez-Its.

Natasha poured vodka over ice and shook some of the crackers into a bowl. She frowned as an antennaed beetle crawled out of the orange squares, disturbed from its winter napping spot. The snack went into the garbage, the bug released through the one window in her flat that opened, and she consoled herself that alcohol had to have some calories.

The doorbell rang, and she closed her eyes for a moment. She was simply not ready to face anyone yet, other than Fury. "Open the door," Clint called, rattling the handle. "I've brought subs with extra grease."

She admitted him in with a frown. "Hey."

"Hey. Don't worry – I'm not going to talk or do anything other than eat this massive sandwich." Clint put out two paper plates with napkins wadded underneath, divided the hoagie into halves, and shoved one at her. "Just eat it, Tasha, for fuck's sake – out of all the inhabitants of this city I'm the one who knows you the best. What else were you going to have for dinner? Crackers?"

"There are bugs in the pantry, so no." Natasha picked up the food, took a huge bite. The deli had loaded it with oil and onions, just the way she liked it. Clint, chewing massively, rummaged in the bag again and produced kettle chips. With a sigh of contentment he picked up the remote and turned on a baseball game. She noticed how his hand, still holding the remote, just grazed the back of her neck. His proximity and the food made Natasha's eyes prickle, and she dropped the sandwich into her plate.

Clint switched off the game, and they sat in silence for a few moments. The sounds of the city, so comforting and familiar, droned outside: traffic, far-off music, and the drum of winter rain.

"You do know me," Natasha said, letting her hair hang forward so she wouldn't have to look at him. "You know I hold onto – you know. I never lose any part of myself. So if I tell you I made a connection while I was kidnapped, would you call it Stockholm Syndrome?"

His thumb, calloused from the bow, rubbed a circle on her skin. "I'd say the guy who did it was intelligent, probably brighter than anyone you ever came up against. You might have seen a piece of yourself in him that made you think there was a connection, one you didn't expect."

"Maybe." It came out as a whisper.

"Either way," Clint continued, "I think you should talk to someone. This is serious - and don't get all pissed off now just because I suggested it."

Natasha stared at the black television screen and felt her breath hot in her chest. "I won't talk about my past," she said. "I refuse. You're the only person who knows other than Fury and Maria."

"Okay, absolutely. I just meant talk about what happened on Jotunheim. The kidnapping. The dude who did it. You need to mentally detox, Tasha."

"And I suppose you know the perfect person to help me?"

"As a matter of fact I do. Dated her a few times. She's smart, funny, nice. The freaky shit we go through won't phase her, if you want to get into the nine realms and ice giants. Plus she's been cleared by SHIELD to help people like us."

Pushing the table back, Natasha got to her feet. "Probably time for you to go."

"Yeah, I know. Here, take the rest of the sub. Should make an interesting breakfast, right?" Clint winked at her and went to the door. There he stopped, pulled her in for a quick hug, and whispered, "Don't delay on this, kiddo. You can't afford to let this guy take over your life. And by the way, I want to personally punch him in the dick."

The rest of the food went into tin foil and the back of her fridge. Natasha climbed into bed, her Glock a familiar weight under the pillow. Although she thought she would lie awake, sleep crashed over her at once.

* * *

She walked in blue halls lined with ice, a rolled parchment scroll in her fist. The passage branched and she took one on the left, not knowing where it would lead or if it even mattered. Her wrist burned, and she saw with a shock Svaðilfari's bracelet glowed red there, burning her skin underneath. "Are you promised to him?" someone whispered, a hidden presence in the blue halls. "Will you lie with him, this horse-person? He wants you – and you already know of his desire."

"Get over yourself." Even in dreams her caustic nature thrust through her desires. "You're not exactly celibate. You made that perfectly clear when we talked through the fire on Asgard. Not that it really matters, Loki. I do what I want."

"And so do I. And I want you."

"But it's over. You made that clear as well."

"And you want me." The voice was very low, interrupting as though she had never spoken. Loki appeared in front of her, still wearing the furs around his hips. He held a spear of ice in one hand, and his red eyes were filled with anger. "Feel free to tell yourself these untruths, but do not dare to lie to me."

"I…"

"Stop." Loki strode up to her, pulled her close with one arm around her waist. He fastened his lips on hers, and she could taste his breath, the mint and passion. She could feel his desire, as well, the erection under the furs nudging against her belly. Just as she was about to moan, to undo the zip on her suit, he pushed her away and snarled, "You want me just as badly as I want you, and you always will."

* * *

"No!" Natasha shot up in bed, holding the Glock with both hands. For one soul-freezing moment she thought someone sat on the end of the mattress, his face away from hers, and she nearly fired the gun in her hands. Her arms, her fingers, her wrists never trembled – she was too well-trained for that.

A sob was forced from her throat, just the same. Tears, from the woman who never showed emotion.

Carefully Natasha put the Glock under her pillow and turned on the light by her bed. There was nothing in the room. The figure she had seen must have been a figment, a shadow, a dream. Still, she wanted to run to the little fireplace and start it up so she could see Loki in the flames. Even if he was carrying another Jotun to his bed, at least she could see he was alive – that Farbauti hadn't slain her son, that somewhere in the universe a king called Loki battled and fucked and laughed, with those damn lines around his eyes betraying intelligence and humor.

She sat as long as she could, arms clasped around her thighs. Finally Natasha sighed with surrender, got out of bed, and padded to the tiny living room. There she turned on gas fireplace and sat cross-legged to watch the fire intently.

Loki never appeared in the flames, nor did anything else.

* * *

After a breakfast of leftover Italian hoagies, Natasha texted Clint. "I'm ready," she wrote. "Introduce me to your psychologist friend." Somewhere, just at the edge of her vision, a blue figure seemed to laugh at her with white teeth. She ignored the memory of the Jotun prince and, telling herself it would be okay, hit Send on the text.

Outside, the icy rain had started falling again in sheets. Weeping weather made the city quieter, since most Manhattanites were clustering in warm pubs or hiding out in their apartments. Natasha pushed her hair back off her face and felt she rested in a place between the realms, silent and motionless with no purpose other than waiting for the next act to happen. It was like sitting on the ledge of an old stone clock, watching the massive gears wheel and count the passing time.

When the dark bird arrived on her windowsill, the same one she had opened the night before to release the bug, Natasha started and nearly dropped her coffee. Nothing was out in the storm, only crawling taxis with darkened signs signaling their unavailability.  _How did you get here?_  she wondered.

The raven glared at her through the glass, ice streaking its dark feathers. Natasha put down her mug and waved her hands in the air, trying to get it to fly off. "You're just a bird," she said. "Go to your nest, or wherever you live." The bird tilted its head on one side, considering before it deliberately pecked her window once, twice, again.

The sounds were as loud and sudden as pistol shots, and a flower of cracks bloomed from the place where its beak had hit the glass.


	14. Jotunheim Syndrome

"Would you say you existed within an uneven balance of power during your time on Jotunheim?" Dr. Nnamani straightened her glasses and held her pen over a thick notebook, waiting.

"Absolutely. Loki kept me locked in our room – at least, he did at first. Later I had more freedom to move around." Natasha recalled the skiing trip, her final nights in the ice tower when she demanded to walk on her own without being carried.

"Did he threaten you with death or personal injury?"

"No. However, his brother threatened me with rape, and Loki saved me."

"How did he save you?"

Natasha hesitated, realizing what she was about to say sounded completely crazy. Still, Dr. Nnamani was a SHIELD-approved therapist, somewhat aware of the nature of the agents' work. "The only way to ensure my safety was to make love to me himself. If he didn't, I could have have been abused by Helblindi and the Jotun guards."

The therapist's skin wrinkled as she raised her eybrows. "And you believed that?"

"There was a previous captive who died from Helblindi's abuses, so yes – I did. Later I met her uncle, and I had to deliver the news of her death."

"Right." Dr. Nnamani leafed back through her notebook. "Svaðilfari – am I pronouncing it correctly? - was the uncle. Correct?"

"Yes." There had been no further messages from the Ljósálfarian Ambassador, although Natasha was certain one would arrive with Thor, perhaps when he arrived from Asgard to visit Jane.

Obviously the therapist didn't feel a need to pursue that line of inquiry. "Let's go back to your conditions in Jotunheim. Did you believe throughout your kidnapping there was no escape?"

"I always knew I would get out. It's what I do."

"Were you isolated during your captivity?"

"For several days, yes. Once my relationship with Loki advanced, I met his parents and other members of the court."

"Let's talk about this relationship. Was he violent from the beginning?"

Natasha blinked. "May I ask you something first?"

Dr. Nnamani waved a hand in assent. "By all means." She had the gorgeous, rich tones of one who had grown up in West Africa.

"Did Clint fully explain our situation at SHIELD to you when you were dating?"

"Ah." The therapist settled her glasses again. Probably it was her 'thinking tic', a way to buy time as she framed her answer. "Naturally Maria Hill put me through a thorough debriefing. I understand your job entails situations that would be considered – exotic. There are times when you confront beings and events that … strain credulity, let us say."

"Exactly. So if I explain I truly was the victim of an alien abduction, you won't throw me into an asylum?" Natasha smiled faintly. "Because Loki is an alien – a completely different form of life. His society is violent by definition, and the inhabitants of Jotunheim change their gender at will. They capture prisoners and keep them as pets. He was quite tall by our standards, but they called him a runt – his brother bullied and abused him for most of Loki's life. So when I say he wasn't violent, I'm probably considering his nonviolence through a Jotun lens."

"I see."

"Do you?" Natasha couldn't help asking. "Some societal practices here on Midgard – on Earth – seem very strange to Westerners, yet they are entirely accepted within their countries."

Dr. Nnamani gave her a long, direct look. "You still defend him," she commented. "Did you develop feelings for him?"

_You gotta be honest,_  Tasha, Clint had said.  _Yvette can't help you if you don't tell the truth._  It was incredibly difficult not to let the training take over, to lead the doctor down a careful path that ended with a bill of clean health and maybe monthly visits. Everyone would be relieved at the happy outcome, and Natasha could go back to the way things were, except for what she saw in the flames and her dreams.

"I was in a sexual relationship with him," she said. "My job requires such things, but this one was – different."

"Why was it different?"

"I'm not quite ready to answer that one yet."  _Because we were magic together,_  Natasha mused. And who could begin to understand that?

The therapist tilted her head. "Why did you decide to come to me for therapy?"

Natasha blew out a breath. "Because of the ravens."

Dr. Nnamani wrote quickly in the notebook. "You're going to have to explain that one a bit further, if you can."

"Certainly. When we left Jotunheim together, Loki and I, we went through a magical corridor – an opening through known dimensions. As we traveled, space and time became a freewheeling pattern of ravens. Ever since then I've seen them everywhere I go."

"Do you think they're following you?"

"I know they are."

"Ah." The doctor smiled. "Of course your mind has picked up an object – in this case a bird – which had no previous significance. Now it holds a deeper meaning for you, and thus your mind creates layers for simple encounters that really are just coincidences."

Natasha almost hated to break down the neat therapeutic structure Dr. Nnamani had spouted from the doctor's books and classes on psychotherapy. "Here," she said, pulling out her phone. "You can see for yourself. It's footage from the constant security system at Stark Tower, where I live."

The doctor took the object and pressed play, and her brows crinkled again. Watching her, Natasha could understand the attraction she had held for Clint. The woman was beautiful, with stunning intelligence and a lovely, economic way of moving. "It's a dark bird – I suppose it  _is_  a raven. And it's at your window, am I right?"

Natasha rose and came to stand by the doctor's shoulder. "See the bird's shadow cast by the building's lights? It's three-dimensional. Take a look at the feathers, the eyes in its reflection." In the video the raven moved and pecked the window, and a mirrored bird did the same on the windowsill. Natasha managed to suppress her instant recoil, recalling the loud echo from the creature's beak.

"It's simply a trick of the light," Dr. Nnamani insisted. "A faulty camera."

Natasha flipped to the next wmv. "Here's the same footage, from a different angle, taken by another camera." The movie showed the bird fly onto the windowsill, but when it turned there was a line of birds behind it, each identical to the next. They seemed to flow into each other and out again, creating a disturbing, incomprehensible image of one bird being many all at once: a single murder of ravens.

"Woah." The therapist put the phone down. "But still, could it be an anomaly? A digital glitch?"

"Fifteen different cameras showed fifteen different views of what we just saw. I can send you all the footage if you like. Tony Stark and Dr. Banner agree it seems the raven is an avian tesseract – a fourth-dimensional object."

"No shit!" The doctor covered her mouth and shook her head. "I'm sorry – please excuse my language. I've never seen anything like that before." Natasha sat down again, and Dr. Nnamani picked up her pen with fingers that shook visibly. "It's obvious to me you are exhibiting signs of a syndrome, but I think it would be a mistake to call it Stockholm. Perhaps we should call it Jotunheim Syndrome instead."

At the woman's statement of understanding, Natasha felt her first genuine ray of hope. Despite the doctor's contained excitement – obviously Yvette envisioned a scholarly thesis in her future – at last Natasha had found someone who understood. "Okay, I'll go with that," she murmured.

"I'm going to suggest regular sessions – twice a week if you can manage it. In the meantime, are you certain you're quite safe?"

Natasha hunched one shoulder. "I live with a group of people who fight enemies of humanity for a living, but even we have never dealt with fourth-dimensional birds before."

* * *

Clint had made her promise to eat dinner, so she stopped for sushi on the way home. Natasha turned on the TV to some old movie with the sound down and watched with one eye as she shoveled down salmon sashimi and flying fish roe. The black and white figures in crisp tuxedoes and silk evening gowns danced and sang on the screen, embers of a forgotten era.

She was tense, waiting for another raven at the window, but when she finished the last of her rolls and nothing appeared she allowed herself to relax enough to dig out her lap top. Quickly she lost herself in work and, when she finished hacking into a few government sites for a third-world country with a suspicious source of income, Natasha realized it was after midnight.

The plastic sushi container went into the recycling bin, used chopsticks in the sink. Natasha brushed her teeth, climbed into her favorite pair of cotton pajamas, and burrowed into her bed. The Glock went under her pillow, one finger on the trigger. That was her normality – life on the Black Widow's terms.

* * *

"You are falling apart." Loki sat on Laufey's old throne, a spear of ice in one hand. "Yet I feel no pity for you at all, since this Hel is of your own creation." His blue skin was very pale, the strong chin tilted as he looked down at where Natasha stood, wearing the Jotun metal restraints he had once placed on her: locked collar, armlets, ankle bands. Their weight on her skin was poignant, just as reminiscent as the 40's clothes on the old black and white movie she had watched over her sushi.

Natasha opened her mouth to respond she was fine, but he interrupted. "I have chosen my queen," Loki declared. His voice was flat, emotionless. "Angrboda and I were linked as one at the last moonrise."

Her movement was born of surprise, making the iron restraints clink on her limbs. "Why bring me here?" she asked. "Why tell me all this?"

He stood suddenly, the fur slipping over his hips. "It should have been you!" Loki shouted. " _You_  should be on this throne with me this instant, entwining your limbs with mine, doing the kissing and the fucking you enjoy so much. We both know it, we know we want each other and cannot stay away…"

"Loki." It was Natasha's turn to interrupt. "If you have married, then you must forget what happened between us. It was sweet, hot as hell, and I'll never argue that. Shit, you might have been the best lover I ever had. But maybe it's one of those things that's even lovelier because it's over, especially now that you're married."

"I can't forget." He turned his back on her, and she couldn't help hitching up one corner of her mouth. Loki's grumpiness and explosive nature – how could she forget those things? "The kingdom of Jotunheim flourishes, with new fountains, lights, feasts, even a trade surplus. Yet I would trade it all for a night at your side."

"Loki," she said again. His name was soft in her mouth, a forbidden sweet. "You have a wife, and we simply have to put the past behind us."

"I cannot!" he shouted. "Nor will you, if I have anything to say about it."

"But I'm working on it now. I'm going to get my life back on schedule, become stronger from all this."

He turned to face her again, and a crafty gleam entered his eyes. "No, you won't." They stared at each other, and Natasha felt as though weights of desire hung between them just as palpable as the chains of her Jotun jewels. Their lust crowded them apart and together, both at the same time. "Why did you leave me?" he asked suddenly. "I would have given you anything, little bird."

Natasha blinked at the soft words, willed strength into her tone. "If it comes to that, why did you marry so soon? Couldn't you trust me to find a way back to your side on my own terms?"

Loki's chin lifted again. "As king of the realm, I have to take a mate. It is my sacred duty."

"I see." Natasha suspected there was a lot more to it than that, including the desire to show off his elite status, to make her wallow in misery. If so, he would never succeed.

"Angrboda!" he shouted suddenly.

A side door opened, and the Jotun maiden Natasha had seen before in the flames entered. She was small by frost giant standards, but stocky, with long hair plaited down her back. "Well, husband?" she demanded in the Jotun language. Natasha was able to understand, after picking up some words during her stay.

Loki didn't respond, didn't even look at her. He stared into Natasha's eyes. Angrboda turned, puzzled, and asked a long question. Natasha couldn't quite pick it all up since the female spoke so rapidly and in a strong accent, but she thought Angrboda wanted to know what the hell he was looking at.

The Queen of Jotunheim was not at all what Natasha had expected. Angrboda had a wide face to match her stocky frame, as well as a gap between her front teeth. She carried herself with an innate confidence that was soothing – almost endearing. Natasha, to her surprise, found that she instinctively liked Loki's wife, even if the queen couldn't see her at all.

"Enough." Loki waved one hand in a weary gesture meant to clear Angrboda from the room. "Go and wait for me in our furs."

Natasha decided to pretend the gesture meant her as well, and the scene faded from her view.

* * *

When she fully woke, Natasha stretched, smiled, and looked at the clock. It was early morning, and she had slept all night. Luxuriously she rose from the bed, turned on the lamp, and drifted to the little bookcase, intent on finding a novel to put her back to sleep.

She selected a volume of Pushkin and went to the bed, plumped up the pillows, and settled herself, wondering why she was filled with calm. It was as though Natasha had been in a little boat, tossed by the seas, and had now arrived at a quiet inlet. The book opened to a verse about friendship: "And at your heedless joy and singing / I will be smiling through my tears," she read.

Those words would no longer refer to her, Natasha was determined. She refused to be a miserable bundle of nerves, a passive-aggressive mope who foisted her depression on anyone else. Because the depression  _had_  lifted – no longer was it so imperative to return to Jotunheim, to find Loki again. The sight of his wife, so solid and comfortable, had done the opposite of what he had probably intended. Natasha realized she had actually worried for Loki, that he would be alone on his throne without her and would rush to heedless, foolish action. Now she saw those fears were groundless, since he had taken a wife who would support him. Every instinct said Natasha would enjoy Angrboda's company, would even seek her out for drinks or conversation in the unlikely event they should ever meet.

Freedom from melancholia flooded her, and Natasha laughed aloud. It was good to be herself again, reliant on no one except herself, the Black Widow. In the morning she would go to Fury and present herself for psych testing, request a new case once the results were in. Maybe Clint could come to the gym later, or they could both meet Yvette for dinner. And she would shop for weapons – and books. She smoothed the page of Pushkin's poetry, thinking the words had never seemed to simple and lovely before.

_Bang!_

The book slipped from her fingers. Natasha shot out of bed, the Glock ready to take out the intruder, before she knew.

There, on the windowsill, sat a dark bird.

A raven.


	15. Thaw

The weeks passed, and the weather calmed. Even Manhattan became less of a wind-tunnel and more of a city mellowing in the sun. As Natasha walked home from her session with Yvette, she reflected the discussion with the therapist. During the session she had described her feelings of well-being, how her melancholia vanished. She was back on Fury's active list. Several former lovers had called, asking for dates. Of course Clint stopped by frequently with unhealthy food and cold beers. Tony had promised to deliver a new weapon for her wristlets, a smart Bite using nano-tech. Fury told her the payment from Asgard would fund the Avengers' ops through the end of the financial year.

If it hadn't been for the ravens, life would be back to normal.

She stopped at the entrance of Stark Tower and felt in her pocket for her key. Just as Natasha retrieved it (standard Ace key with hidden mag-byte engineering she hung from an old shoestring) she heard a hoarse meow, like the sound of a rusty spring.

Natasha frowned and checked her phone. Had Stark reprogrammed one of her alerts? Before she could turn it on, a tiny shadow unattached itself from the darkness of a nearby grate and slunk near her ankles, ears flattened in expectation of rejection. "Hey, cat," she said to it. The black cat sat on the pavement, looked up into her face, and meowed again. "Sorry, no food. If you're still here tomorrow I'll bring you something."

She rang the main bell and waited for the door to open. The cat cried several more times, wound itself round her ankles, and when Natasha bent to scratch it between its ears started a loud, motoring purr.

When the door opened the creature bounded in after her, its tail as upright as a candle at a satanic mass. It ran forward, dashed back to see if she was following, ran forward again. Natasha grinned at its impudence and reflected she had just found a kindred spirit.

* * *

 

In her apartment she dug out an old saucer, filled it with leftover chicken, and put it down for the cat. Instantly it sank on its haunches and started to eat, the loud purr revving as it chewed and grunted over the food. Natasha watched for a moment, entranced by such satisfaction, before she rose to dig out an old plastic tub she could use for a litter tray.

The little cat finished its meal and, when Natasha sat to eat a can of soup she had heated for dinner, insisted on settling on her lap. Tentatively she curled one finger around a black ear and was rewarded by more purring as well as several fishhooks dug into her jeans. "Ouch," she complained. "Hey, you don't have to stay here, you know. You're allowed to come and go as you want."

More fishhooks, more purring. The sound was surprisingly calming, and Natasha put off getting up, finding her phone, and making a vet appointment for her new friend. She pushed the bowl away, leaned back in the chair, and thought about names – if it ever came to that. She intended to feed the thing, take it to the vet, and drop it off at an animal shelter once her duties towards the animal were done. Probably naming it was a bad idea, since the cat would be gone by the following evening.

Deep in those thoughts, Natasha was startled by the bang at the window. The rook stood outside the glass, cocking its head and watching her intently. Natasha cursed in Russian, reflecting by that time she should be used to the ravens.

The cat, however, was electrified by the bird's appearance. It shot out of Natasha's lap, darted to the window where the bird sat, and leapt onto the ledge. When the raven banged again with its beak, the cat meowed loudly and stretched into a long, black shape balanced on two legs, its tail twitching wildly and swollen to twice its size.

Natasha was about to grab it before it hurt itself against the glass when the cat hissed and spat out what sounded like the feline version of several rude words. This was followed by frantic scrabbling at the window and more hisses.

The raven seemed to reflect before giving it up as a bad job. It pecked the window once more, provoking another cry, and flew off with a defiant caw.

"Nice." With a broad smile, Natasha kneeled by the cat. "You just paid for your meal."

* * *

 

For the first time in weeks, her sleep was dark and dreamless without any flashes of ice, blue skin, black hair, or a silky voice tickling her ear to tell her what a bad decision she had made when she left the huge tower. There were no wrist restraints, no clanking chains around her ankles. Instead she floated in a warm black cloud, punctuated with purring from a warm body that somehow had found its way into her bed and curled up in her stomach.

So when she woke and saw a large shape at the foot of her bed, felt the weight bending the bed frame, she was shocked into full consciousness. Only her extreme training allowed her to stifle a gasp before the shape said in a weary tone, "Calm yourself, Lady Natasha. It is I, Thor."

"Thor?" Natasha felt for the lamp switch. "Why are you here at – oh, two in the morning? Jesus, I nearly put a bullet in your skull!"

"I am sorry, but there was no time to waste. The war with Svartalfheim has turned against us…"

"Even with help from the Ljósálfar?" She was already out of bed, turning on the light, picking a random shirt and pants from the dresser.

"Svaðilfari sent the bulk of his army, but the dark elves have a dark power none of us foresaw – something called the Aether. They have harnessed its force to decimate our main cavalry and breached the boundaries of Asgard itself." Thor's slumping posture revealed the despair and failure he had to be feeling.

"Oh, no." Natasha sat on the bed next to him, the clothes in her hands. "Is it bad?"

"Worse than you can imagine." Thor shook his head. "I have seen entire families burnt to death in their barns, along with their livestock. Women stolen and brought back to Svartalfheim – who knows for what foul purpose? And a group of children were slaughtered yesterday as they waited to celebrate the coming of the equinox, flowers and ribbons in their hands."

She covered her mouth with one hand. "Thor – I – I don't even know what to – is there anything you can do? Amora? Sif? Do they have any plans?"

He put one arm around her and she leaned her head on his shoulder. "Amora has been a wonder, flitting from place to place as she is needed, but not even her enchantment can fight the power of the Aether. There is only one chance, and I need your help."

"Of course!" Natasha put her hand on his knee. "Just say the word – whatever you need."

"Jotunheim," Thor stated heavily.

Natasha shot out of his arm to stand in front of him. Her calm little shell of therapy and home, so fragile and newly-created, shattered as she thought of that snowy realm: blue and violent, cold and lovely. "What  _about_  Jotunheim?" she asked.

"We need their help if we are to turn this red tide of bloody violence and save my people."

Blindly she turned away and crouched to feel the little cat, coming up to rub against her ankles. "I would absolutely come to do what I can, but the Jotun king wants no part of me. This time you'll have to find a different diplomat, I'm afraid."

"But that's just it." Thor rose and went to the window, clenching and unclenching his fists. "Amora managed to contact Loki and beg for his help. He has agreed to send the Jotnar to help us, but only if you come to Asgard when he does. If you do not, he will withdraw his offer."

A helpless, horrified feeling came over Natasha, as though she had just escaped a cage and now was being drawn back inside. "Thor…"

"Believe me, I did not want to approach you with such a request. I knew such a thing would be like an arrow in your heart, but when I heard about the children I had to come. Still I sat on your bed for what seemed an eternity before I dared wake you to this madness."

Shame sluiced over her like the ice of the Jotun mountains. Thor had to watch his people die, and here she was mooning over a former lover. "Of course I'll come, if that's Loki's condition. When do we go?"

"Truly?" Thor turned to her with dawning hope in his eyes. "I didn't mean… that is – we leave at dawn, if you can be ready."

Natasha nodded. "I'll be there. But I need to make some preparations first." She thought of the cat and wondered what the hell she would do with it.

"Yes, naturally. I will be in Jane's quarters. Come and knock when you are ready to travel."

He left her room and closed the door quietly behind him. Natasha went to the closet and picked out a small bag. Travel to Asgard was light, out of necessity, and she narrowed down the things she needed. The rest would be provided at the palace.

As she sorted through toiletries, spare clothes, and an old paperback she decided to bring – a copy of Shute's Round the Bend – her mind skittered like a drunk spider on a slippery mirror. Loki had her pinned at last after her escape. There was no way to avoid it. She would confront him and his wife, if Angrboda truly existed at all and wasn't merely a trick of her dreams and the fire. However, she had one advantage. They would all need to be serious and concentrate on the desperate situation in Asgard. The magic between her and the Jotun would  _have_  to be extinguished, snuffed like a spent match.

At that she closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the wall of the closet. Natasha knew all the way to the marrow of her bones such a thing was impossible. If two people lusted after each other so fiercely, the desire between them eventually forced itself to the surface like a pocket of air bursting from the depths of the ocean. When Loki's lust and her desire emerged, what terrible disruption and heartache would they create?


	16. The Reunion in the Palace

Svaðilfari himself met Natasha and Thor on the edge of the Bifrost. The Ljósálfarian ambassador was seated on a magnificent white stallion, and as they approached the horse reared up to create a beautiful image against the wheeling stars. "He probably taught the horse to do that so you would admire him," Thor whispered.

When Natasha approached with the cat in her arms, Svaðilfari looked down his nose at the feline. "Agent Romanoff," he said in a low voice. She got the idea that her new pet had thrown him off somewhat.

"Meet Liho." She had decided on the name last minute. "I found her in Midgard, and she seems to have adopted me." Unable to find anyone to take care of the cat at such short notice, Natasha had decided to bring Liho along.

"Ah," was his only response. Beside her, Natasha could feel Thor shaking with suppressed mirth. Svaðilfari seemed mollified, however, when she shook the silver bracelet on her wrist.

"I still wear it in memory of our ride." Pretty words designed to keep the ambassador happy.

He had brought horses for them both, and Thor mounted his with a bound. "What news of the war, my friend?"

Svaðilfari tilted his head back in an arrogant gesture reminiscent of the Jotun prince who was now King Loki. "We will prevail as long as the promised Jotun reinforcements arrive before the next battle. We have driven them back to the Alfheim border, but their powers are much stronger there."

"The new army will be in Asgard anon. Agent Natasha Romanoff is the key."

"In that case, I would say we need not fear." Svaðilfari smiled slightly and drew his horse aside so she could ride before him and arrive first into the courtyard. It was a courtly gesture, signaling respect and admiration.

* * *

Natasha knew he was there before she entered the room. The salon was the same one where she had first met Svaðilfari, with its stone columns around the immense table.

At the far end stood King Loki of Jotunheim, as motionless as the statues ringing the chamber.

She felt everyone must have heard the click of their eyes connecting: Loki and Natasha, together again at last. For a moment all was just as before, the glint of amusement in his face tempered with something like tenderness. Then it was gone, and his face became a cold mask again. However, he wore the white skin she had seen just once, when they first experimented with magic to change his appearance. The mere thought of working a spell with him was enough to make her blood boil with desire.

There was no sign of the Jotun female he had married, if she existed at all.

In order to hide her thoughts she sat in the chair indicated by Svaðilfari between the king and the ambassador. "You already know King Loki," Thor stated.

"You are a hero in Alfheim, Majesty," Svaðilfari said, "if it was indeed your hand that slew Helblindi, the foul murderer of the elf-maiden."

Loki inclined his head. "It was my pleasure to rid the realm of such a maggot." Although he spoke to Svaðilfari, his gaze never left Natasha's face.

The door opened, and Sif entered with Amora close behind. Natasha felt a bolt of relief when she saw them, since the atmosphere was seething under Loki's cold, austere gloom. She couldn't help getting up and giving them both long hugs. Naturally Amora took the chance to kiss her several times flush on the mouth. At that, Natasha heard a slight hiss, but it was impossible to tell whether it came from Loki or Svaðilfari.

"Amora has been brilliant today, running interference and setting up defense," Sif began. "However, we simply cannot continue as we are against such a horde."

"I suppose you mean this graceless prelude to bring up the matter of my guards." Loki raised one eyebrow.

"We could all drink champagne and take you out to dinner in order to win your support if the situation weren't so desperate," Natasha interjected.

Instantly his needle-sharp gaze was transferred to her. "I'm certain you can understand the insult that Jotunheim is an enemy to be crushed until we are actually of some use to Asgard."

"In the face of a common enemy we must become friends or perish." Svaðilfari's voice calmly stated the bold truth. "If the Dark Elves overrun Asgard with their Aether magic, do you really think they will stop there? Will Jotunheim be hidden from their path, especially if we take into account the recent renaissance of your culture?"

"I just don't see why  _my_  army has to fight what are, at present,  _your_  battles." Loki was in full reigning bitch mode, Natasha saw. The contrast between the lusty Jotun prince she had lain with so many times and the present cold, emotionless monarch made her heart sink.

"You already promised your army as long as the Midgardian came to Asgard!" Sif flung one arm in Natasha's direction. "And behold. Are you going to withdraw your sacred word?"

"Lady Sif…"

Loki interrupted Thor. "Of course not. However, I will raise the stakes, to use a Midgardian phrase I learned from the lovely agent herself during her sojourn on my realm. You may have my army with all its ice power as well as my own magic to combine with that of the enchantress. I am certain that together Amora and I will be able to create whirlwinds of spells, enough to make the enemies' heads spin."

Amora and Sif looked at each other. "It would be amazing," Amora admitted. "His Majesty and I could interlace our powers to form a web, a net of trickery. The hordes would have no chance."

"That would expose the leader of the Dark Elves, and we could confront his Aether," Sif added. "Perhaps we could even capture the power for ourselves."

"Yes. Run experiments, discover how it works. But of course there's a price to have so much magic on our side," Natasha said. "Isn't there, Loki?"

He grinned, the first expression of true happiness she had seen in him during the meeting. "Of course."

Thor rose to his feet and put both fists on the huge table. "Out with it. What is this price?"

"Nothing very terrible," Loki responded in a bland voice. "Merely the negotiations shall be carried out between Natasha and myself tonight in a private chamber of my choosing."

* * *

"Naturally it's a trick." Sif paced in front of the window of Natasha's Aesir bedchamber, one long finger tapping her lips. Long shafts of orange and purple sunset lit her long hair, braided carelessly over one shoulder. "He's too intelligent not to have a double – perhaps treble – purpose for this request."

"Of course it's a trick." Amora stretched out on the bed beside Natasha and played with the agent's red curls splayed on the pillow. Between them lay Liho, shifting as she dreamt of mice or maybe ravens. "If it happened at any other time, I would tell the cocky frost giant to take his blue prick and bury it in an avalanche somewhere."

Natasha couldn't hold back a snort of mirth, and even Sif had to smile. "I'm worried for you," the shield maiden added. "He could take you away again – and we all saw how the last time affected you."

"However, I'm no blushing virgin to be dragged off to a cave," Natasha countered. "Yes, he did it to me once, but now I'm prepared. I'd love to see him try to take my ass back to his ice tower again. Besides, we really have no choice, if we're going to be honest with ourselves. You have all sacrificed yourselves for Asgard, and now it's my turn."

* * *

Natasha refused to attend the long banquet given that evening. Svaðilfari sent several messages for her to be his guest, each one poetically phrased and delicately written, but she wrote a quick refusal and turned back to her weapons. She wanted to be ready for Loki in his current incarnation, the icy monarch who would bend everything and everyone to his will.

Her catsuit would allow her the greatest freedom of movement and hide a great deal of weaponry at the same time. Furthermore, it might soften his tone a bit to see her in the clothes she wore when they first met. Natasha nodded with decision, dismissed the gossiping group of valets assigned to help her dress, and pulled on her Widow gear in private. Her belt was fully loaded, threaded with Tony's upgraded discs. Both wristlets were oiled and ready. Her pistol was a comforting weight at her hip.

She checked her reflection one last time. Her face was devoid of makeup and her hair coiled in careless swirls over her shoulders, but Natasha thought that was for the best. Artifice might give the impression she was after seduction, and that was the last thing she wanted.

A slight tap on her door told her the Jotun messenger had arrived. The courier was a female with long, black hair and red eyes. She smiled, betraying a slight gap between her front teeth.

Of course he had sent Angrboda to fetch Natasha. It was Loki's next move in what was to be a very interesting game of chess.

Natasha smiled back, reflecting Loki would lose this round. The liking she had felt for his wife even through the filter of flames and dreams increased when she was faced with the solid reality of the woman. "You are Queen Angrboda?" she asked.

"Yes. You are my husband's lover?"

The bold question rocked Natasha for a moment, but instantly she recovered herself. "No longer," she said. "I guess I should start by promising not to compromise your marriage."

Angrboda let one corner of her mouth droop and lifted her shoulders quickly in the Jotun version of a don't-care shrug. "Our marriage is one of convenience," she said. "I'm certain the king wants you in his bed again."

"Well, that's just not going to happen."

"Oh. In that case, he will simply find other bedmates while he is here." Angrboda put her hand on the small of Natasha's back to guide her around a sharp corner. "We go up this staircase and down the hall."

"Does that make you angry?" Natasha was curious about the queen's insouciance.

"Perhaps what you are really asking is – do I love the king?" The queen smiled. There was bloodthirst in her face, Natasha saw, and her liking for Angrboda increased. "He's not bad. I  _do_  love being queen. I was a farmer's daughter a few months ago, despised for my small stature and destined for the animals' stalls. Loki's ascendancy ended all that, and now those who once despised me have to lick my feet."

Surprised by the answer, Natasha laughed. "Well done. I can't promise to lick your feet, but I do vow never to interfere with your throne."

"Then we can exist more easily together in this gold mausoleum." Angrboda smiled again, revealing the gap between her front teeth once more. "Here is the room – and behold my husband, waiting within. I will leave you alone with him." Gently she pushed Natasha into the dark chamber, and the door closed silently behind her.

The reigning monarch of Jotunheim was a slim figure, just visible by the light of a guttering candle. Slowly he turned to face Natasha, and she saw he had resumed his blue skin. One palm lifted, and he beckoned for her to come to him.

Lifting her chin, Natasha obeyed his summons and approached Loki's side. The room lay in shadows, and she could only see his face and the outline of his long limbs, lit by the tiny flame. "Are we playing Sardines?" she couldn't help asking.

"Sardines? What do you mean by that?"

"It's a game." Natasha wished she could take back the question.

"What is this game?" he demanded. "Explain this to me."

At that familiar, demanding tone, Natasha felt a trickle of regret. If only they had met in other circumstances! But what would those be, she mocked herself. An inter-realm disco? Cocktail party in Alfheim? "Just a silly thing teenagers do in Midgard," she said. "It involves darkness, proximity, and of course young hormones."

He didn't move. "You and I will play this game one day."

Natasha shook her head. "No. Sorry, but we won't."

There was a slight rustle, and she found her wrist enveloped by his long fingers. "Why not?" Loki demanded in her ear.

"Because you are married."

A slight tug brought her to his side. "Angrboda cares for nothing but being queen," he began.

"Yes, I know. She just told me." Natasha wrenched her arm from his grasp. "However, I'm here merely to negotiate the use of your army – and your magic, as you promised in the meeting earlier."

Loki didn't touch her again, but neither did he move away. They stood so close she could feel his heightened breath, the tiny sparks of desire from his flesh. "Why? Are you disappointed I took a wife? Do you wish it was you on the throne and not Angrboda?" He started to pace around her, speaking into the curve of her neck, the dip of her ear. "Do you want promises and vows between us, little bird?"

"It's not that, no."

"What then?" he shouted. "Tell me!"

"I like your wife."

Loki rocked back, surprised by her answer. "You ... what did you say?"

"Angrboda. I like her. I won't force betrayal onto a strong woman just because her husband and I share a sexual history." Natasha saw she had shocked him, and her lips spread in secret triumph. "But I do want one promise – your magic and your guards. Are you going to go back on your word?"

"You once broke your promise to me." Loki stopped his pacing to stand in front of her, eyes even more red-rimmed with his fury, mouth open as though he couldn't contain the seething passions within.

Natasha's gaze dropped. He was right, and the thought was like ice in her veins. Dr. Nnamani's counsel came back to her, however, reminding her she was the  _victim_  of a terrible crime, not the guilty one. "It was the only way for us both to gain…" she started to explain, when the door to the chamber opened.

Svaðilfari stood in the shadows. His silver hair seemed to glow from within, and he stood just as upright as Loki did. "Forgive me," the ambassador said. "I thought I could offer my assistance in the proposed alliance." The elf's face was shuttered by darkness, but it was obvious he was taking in the scene of Loki so close to her. Had he overheard some of the conversation? It was impossible to tell.

Loki took a step forward. "We have no need of you," he declared. "Natasha has brokered her deal for my assistance, and we are about to seal the agreement."

The males confronted each other. Fascinated, Natasha reflected she had never seen two beings so alike and different at the same time – both arrogant, almost insolent in temperament. Yet Svaðilfari was tempered by courtly graces, and Loki was the epitome of unleashed desire.

"Thank you for the offer of assistance," she said. "Will we ride together in the morning?"

"Of course." Svaðilfari withdrew, and the door closed.

With two long strides Loki reached the door and turned the key in the lock before facing her. "The elfling is extremely solicitous. Does he lust after you? He seems a mighty stallion, to be sure. I'm certain his manhood tents that ridiculous robe at the mere thought of a morning ride…"

Natasha sprang to his side, swung back, and slapped his cheek as hard as she could. Loki rocked back from the blow, and for a moment they were frozen in that position, his head turned to the side, displaying a long line of neck and the hawked nose, her hand tingling from the satisfactory violence. Christ, it felt good to smack that sneering face. "Be glad I didn't spit on you this time," she muttered.

A slow smile spread his lips. Loki found her arm and jerked her to him, cupped her head, and devoured her mouth with his. The movement was so quick, so unexpected, Natasha had no time to respond. In any case she found she was kissing him back, stepping between his powerful legs, fisting his collar to bring him closer, tangling her fingers in his hair. Their lips parted at the same time, and a rush of wanting made the cleft between her legs tingle and pulse with desire at the taste of him. Yes, there was that sharply male flavor tempered by soft tongue and demanding caresses. Loki's breath shattered on her cheek and in her mouth, and she knew he could sense her own gasps for air...

"No." Natasha twisted out of his arms.

His eyes were huge, darkened with passion. She already knew how he worked – once his lust was evoked, nothing would stop him. Let Angrboda have those energies, Natasha vowed. She refused to screw the Jotun on the floor of a candlelit chamber just because neither of them could control themselves.

"Yes," he responded. Loki held up his palm, and the little green ball of light appeared in the center. Carefully he held it up and displayed the walls of the room where they stood.

The walls were covered with shelves. Each alcove was crammed with scrolls, and with a sinking heart Natasha realized what was written within. The entire chamber was filled with painfully erotic magic, and she and Loki were locked inside.


	17. Battles

"Loki, we can't." Natasha looked around at the magic scrolls, just visible by the little light he held in his palm.

"We can't what?" The Jotun prince – now the king – leaned closer as though he wanted to hear each word she said. It was a dangerously attractive move, one all the more compelling for being calculated to reel her in.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," she snapped. "Don't play coy with me, Your Majesty."

"Perhaps I do know." He slanted his eyes towards the shelves. "But there is all that knowledge, Natasha, just waiting for us inside those scrolls. Each could be filled with power we can hardly imagine within reach of our fingertips."

With those words the enchantment galloped in her veins like quicksilvered beauty and poison at once, rushing through her arms and neck and fingertips and sex. Yes, she was fluttering and stinging down there, as though a wasp hit her repeatedly with a delightful little stinger.

Of course Loki picked up on what was happening to her at once. His arms wrapped around her waist, and at the mere touch of the blue skin Natasha hit an instant release in a damp explosion. The magic had brought her to boiling point faster than she had imagined. "Oh, little bird," he groaned into her hair, "you quicken so nicely. Feel what it does to me." His insistent touch pushed her hand between his legs to grasp the hardness there, rearing through the leather breeches he had somehow found and adopted in Asgard. The kidskin framed his length perfectly, slippery and soft at once, and she was unable to stop curling her fingers around the shaft.

Loki gasped into her ear and lifted her in one impetuous motion to sit on his hips. "Look, firebird," he whispered. Natasha moaned into his mouth as he flicked open a scroll and held it up. At once she saw the spells within: ability to duplicate oneself so a hundred mirror images could surround an enemy. Casting illusions to make snakes appear in a cup of wine. The power of Allspeech to speak and understand any language.

Not knowing what she said, Natasha babbled the spells she saw within the scroll. "Yes," he murmured back. "I can see it. I can – oh, fuck!" His hips bucked against her, and in a tumbled rush they sank onto the floor together. She fell on his lap still clasped in his arms, and it was impossible to hold back from pushing onto him to slide her wet core against the leather-clad erection in the tight breeches. Loki's mouth sought hers, and Natasha moaned as his tongue slipped between her lips.

"This is crazy," she whispered.

"Yes. Yes. Yes." Their hips ground together, unable to stop themselves, and as he moaned into her mouth so she could taste the unmistakable flavor of Loki, she felt another orgasm flutter inside her. He must have been close as well, slapping her ass to pull her closer, thrusting as though there were no clothes between them, and oh yes she knew when he lost control to spurt right into the leathers. Natasha could feel the extra heat at her cleft, his nails in her back, teeth in her neck.

"Fuck," she gasped when she got her breath back. "I didn't even last a day."

"A day?" Loki took a deep breath and frowned into her face. "What do you mean by this?"

"I don't want to start up with you again. When I saw Angrboda in the dream I liked her, and I swore I wouldn't do anything to hurt her." Guilt poured through Natasha's heart like melting ice.

"Listen to me." Loki tilted up her face with one finger under her chin. "She married me to get onto the throne. We would never have done it if you were still in Jotunheim. But I had to take a mate at once or the serf-lords would have started their usual fights and grumbles. It was the only way to make certain of the realm."

"Still, I don't want to be that person who falls into bed with a former lay after he's married. It's not cool and definitely not my style." She wriggled to get away, but he pinned her more firmly against his chest with his arms.

"She does not mind, Natasha. In fact, Angrboda expects it."

"That's not the point at all!" One more struggle set her free from Loki's embrace, and with a sigh he leaned back on his elbows to watch her stand up in front of him. "To be honest, I don't really care what deal you have worked out with your wife. It  _does_ matter that I'm comfortable with myself, though, and right now I'm not."

One corner of his mouth ticked up in a wicked grin. "However, you kissed me back, little bird. And you did not protest when we pleasured each other just now." He bound to his feet and stalked to her side. "Take me to your bed," he growled. "I want to be inside you again, all night, as we used to do in my realm. Nothing feels the same. Nothing."

"No." Natasha shook her head.

"And yet a moment ago it was Yes." Loki raised his eyebrows in a supremely innocent look and held up the scroll. "Look, we will study this. The knowledge we gain will be for Asgard."

"Study with Amora in that case. I should have known there would be a trick when you said you wanted to choose the room for our meeting – and no, I'm not blaming you entirely. It's my fault too. But if you want to gain more magic find another teacher. And by the way, I expect you to deliver on the extra troops for the Allfather." Natasha evaded his outstretched arm, turned the key in the lock, and managed to escape into the hall.

Angrboda stood outside, humming as she examined her fingernails. The woman's square, blunt hands with short nails were those of a farmer, Natasha couldn't help noticing.

"Did you satisfy him?" Loki's wife asked.

There was nothing Natasha wanted more than a bath and her bed, but the question stopped her in the hall. "I would like to have a talk tomorrow, if you wouldn't mind."

"We could do that." Angrboda shrugged again. It was a characteristic gesture of hers, Natasha decided.

* * *

"You want him." Svaðilfari currycombed the neck of his stallion with long sweeps of his arm. "You desire the Jotun king."

Natasha looked up sharply from her saddle. "Why would you say such a thing?"

The elf put down the comb, fixed his eyes on hers, and ducked under the horse's head to approach her. "You are a good emissary, thoroughly inhabiting the part you play. Anyone else seeing you would think you were intent on the job here and composed in your private life." He reached her side as she tested the girth strap. "Only the horses tell me otherwise, and they never lie. See how my Hrolf follows your movements with his head? He sees the hunger in you, although you try to hide it under countless layers of strategy and self-protection."

She made her face impassive. "I mean to concentrate on the job of protecting Asgard, ambassador. As soon as that is finished I'll go back home."

"Ah, do not pretend. Not to me, Natasha." Svaðilfari moved her hair from her neck with a touch that was just as gentle on her as it had been on his horse's neck. "Perhaps I could help if things are so difficult for you."

The offer made her look up sharply. "What do you mean by that?"

His eyes, so startlingly blue under those dark brows, stared into hers. "I think you already know, do you not?" Svaðilfari smiled slightly. "I can assure you it would be very satisfying, if quite different from what you have experienced in the Jotun king's bed."

Things had certainly escalated quickly. Her thoughts reeling, Natasha clicked her tongue and coaxed the mare to walk outside the stables. "There was a rumor you were coldhearted, but I see it isn't true at all," she said over her shoulder.

"No." The smile was evident in his voice as he followed with his stallion.

Natasha mounted and twisted to regard him as he rose into his own saddle with one swift motion. Svaðilfari always looked his best on horseback, back arrow-straight and riding as though he were part of the powerful stallion between his legs. Impulsively she reached out one gloved hand to catch his. "We must not forget there are bigger matters here, ambassador. The future of the Aesir is the most important consideration right now, and I can't jeopardize Thor's realm by following my own desires. May I have some time to think about your offer?"

He raised her hand, turned it, and kissed the palm with lips warm enough to feel right through the supple leather of her riding gauntlet. "Of course," he murmured and let her go to trot off into the tree-lined avenue flanking the palace.

Loki never would have given such a reasonable answer, Natasha reflected as she urged the mare into a brisk pace. He would have found a way to get her out of the saddle and into his arms as quickly as possible, using charm and quick speech as well as his powerful sexuality to win what he wanted.

And for the moment she couldn't decide which she preferred, the violence on the floor of the scroll library or Svaðilfari's chaste kiss on her gloved hand.

* * *

"I can't get used to these gowns," Angrboda complained. "What I wouldn't give for my furs!"

"And my catsuit," Natasha agreed. She had smuggled them out of the palace to a nearby tavern Sif had recommended in the hopes they could talk there without interruptions, even if hoisting a tankard and eating bread and cheese made her feel she was inside Skyrim. Plus Angrboda was right about the dresses, always getting caught in a door or looping around her knees when she attempted to spar with Sif.

"I like the ale." Angrboda finished her mug and banged it on the table. When a grumpy bartender materialized, she squinted at Natasha. "Got any gold? Yes? Very well, buy us more drinks."

Natasha couldn't help smiling at the Jotun's audacity as she motioned for more ale. "It's good to get away from all the everlasting banquets. I feel like nothing gets done without a bard's accompaniment and dancing until two in the morning."

"What did you want to talk about?" Angrboda asked baldly. Obviously she wasn't one for small talk. It made Natasha like her even more.

"Look, I just wanted to apologize for ending up on the floor of that little library with – you know…"

"With Loki. I told you I don't care." Angrboda looked into the distance and stole a piece of Natasha's cheese.

"But it's not the point," Natasha explained for the second time. "It's more about me this time, I'm afraid. I don't want to be the person I'm being at the moment…Ugh. This sounds so new age-y and self-help-ish. Must be the effect of therapy."

"Therapy? What is therapy?"

"When you go and see someone to talk about yourself. And your feelings."

Angrboda scowled. "Why would anyone ever want to do that?"

"Well, yes, I feel the same about it, except after I was dragged to Jotunheim by your husband and escaped I had trouble sleeping. I couldn't eat. And then there were the ravens."

The Jotun queen ignored the mention of the birds. "I forgot Loki stole you away. It seemed you had come of your own volition when I first saw you."

Natasha considered this. "You saw me when I was there?"

"Yes. I was part of the ice dance when you and Loki couldn't keep your eyes and hands off each other at dinner. Still, I think I can comprehend your situation. Probably you feel guilty for something that wasn't your fault, apologetic for things you never said, and angry about events completely out of your control."

"That's it exactly." Natasha was amazed. "How did you know?"

"It's how I used to react when I was laughed at for being so small. 'Dwarf', the other children called me. Fit for the troughs. Said I would never find my center. I used to think it was all my doing, but now I see the guilt was theirs."

"But now you have?" Natasha asked. "Found your center, that is?"

"No, but I've got a damn comfortable throne and a bigger house than any of those ninnies will ever imagine." Angrboda barked a short laugh and stole more cheese. She poked it into her mouth and ate in a pleased, cat-got-the-cream manner.

"Still, Loki must understand what happened to you since he went through much the same thing," Natasha pressed. "I'm certain if you talked to him about it you would find much in common – far more than he and I could ever have. I don't really speak his language or fully understand Jotunheim's history."

"But he already has his center - you." Angrboda pushed one short, fat forefinger against the spy's collarbone. "I'm still looking for mine – well, perhaps I would be if I weren't so comfortable at the moment."

Natasha leaned on one elbow to watch the queen lick her fingers and Natasha's knife. "I'm glad you found a place to be happy, at least."

"Me too." Angrboda belched pleasurably and pointed with the knife at Natasha's trencher. "Going to eat the rest of that?"

"Here." Natasha slid the plate along the bar.

"Ah." The queen bit hugely into the bread and munched for several seconds before adding, "But the king's not the only one, is he? You've got the face for it – no, that's wrong. It's not just your beauty that makes them all slaver after your cunt. It's the light inside you – it shines out so everyone can see it. There's another who wants you on the library floor, I should imagine. Eh?"

"I don't know." Hardly pleased with being so transparent or having everyone know the state of her current sexual predicament, Natasha drank a long draught of ale. She managed a burp nearly as loud as Angrboda's, making the queen shout with laughter before growing serious again.

"You should take care. If my husband gets wind of any other flirtations he'll become violent. Loki's quiet now, but when he doesn't have what he wants it builds up inside him, see. Like steam in an ice engine increasing pressure until the whole thing explodes."

_Was it a threat?_  Natasha watched Angrboda intently through her lashes, but the woman seemed to concentrate on her food and drink as though the pub's menu was her most important concern. "I'm well aware of the delicate…"

Angrboda planted one elbow in Natasha's ribs. "Just get Loki in bed and let off some of that steam before it destroys someone."

Natasha looked down at her lap, reflecting both the king and queen were both doing their best to drive her into Loki's arms. "Why don't you do it for him?" she asked quietly.

"Was never one for that sort of thing much. Well, consummation had to happen, but now I've done my duty."

"Duty!" Natasha leaned closer suddenly. "Angrboda, it can be so much more than that. It's the breathless feeling you get before something lovely is about to happen, the sense of wonder when you see a work of art. And then the kiss starts, and it all just builds – like the ice dance, you know. You and Loki could have that, I'm sure of it."

Angrboda's attention had wandered. "Do you think they serve pie in this fleabag?" she asked.

Natasha was amused by the queen. Perhaps her 'center' was food and drink as well as a soft bed. After all, not everyone went in for sex and magic. She summoned the barkeeper, ordered pie and more ale, and sat back as Angrboda began to argue with him over the pie fillings. She wanted a dish of meat, cheese, and apple pies, with cream on the side. "Aesir food is so delicious," she sighed when the man finally left, mollified by another gold piece from Natasha's pocket. "In Jotunheim we eat nothing but dried meat and fermented mint leaves. Yuck. Poo." She ended by blowing a loud raspberry.

"Maybe you can start a cooking school." Natasha meant it as an idle suggestion, but the queen's face brightened instantly.

"I could! I'm Queen, after all. And I could build a tavern, like this one except much larger and fancier. And I'd revolutionize farming for new ingredients with hot houses and heated barns. We have the energy, after all, now that the Casket is back in its place. What a fantastic, wonderful, lovely idea." In her enthusiasm she drew Natasha close and planted a loud, smacking kiss on one cheek.

"Hang on. Someone's just come in looking for us." Natasha disengaged herself as Sif approached their stools, giving Angrboda a quizzical look.

"My apologies for the interruption," Sif stated. "We must return to the palace this instant. The war turns more violent, and the Allfather has decided to relocate us to the west where the bulk of the fighting lies."

"This instant?" Angrboda's face fell, probably as she thought of her lost pie.

"This instant."

Sif swung around and prepared to leave, but Natasha caught Angrboda's arm. It was important she didn't pass along news of Svaðilfari's offer to the king. "I merely wanted to let you know I'm trying to stay away from your husband, and any other offers I receive I'm considering in that light while we are all here in Asgard."

"Natasha," the queen replied, "I am perfectly serious when I tell you it would be far better for us all if you simply took Loki into your bed."


	18. The Song in the Blood

The court of Asgard traveled by night on the flying longboats. As the ships were loaded, Natasha saw Loki and Svaðilfari stalk the docks with expressions of impatience on their arrogant, handsome faces. The king had his arms folded behind his back, and he made a point of not looking at the elf. Natasha lurked behind a pile of weaponry and, at the last minute, snuck onto the third ship free of lusting suitors with Liho in her arms.

Sif and Amora were already onboard, consulting lists of ground troops and maps. The images hovered in midair, red writing holographed in front of the couple by some future tech Natasha didn't yet understand. When Amora saw Natasha, the enchantress burst out laughing and jumped up to take the cat from her arms. "Did you see Svaðilfari?" she asked. "He was strutting around like this…" She tilted up her chin and pretended to swish a long silk cloak around her.

"And Loki was King of Disapproval." Sif folded her arms behind her back, and assumed an expression of gloomy mischief.

"Haha, you're both very funny." Natasha collapsed on the seat facing them and rested her head on Sif's shoulder. "We need their cooperation intact just now, and yet they're both doing their best to demand the bulk of my time. It's nothing I can't handle, but at the moment it's a pain in the ass."

"Tell them you're with us," Amora giggled. "Say the three of us are violently in love and want a highly untraditional marriage."

"And piss them both off at once? I don't think so. Amora, are you and Loki still working together?" Natasha asked.

The enchantress nodded. "The king agreed to cooperate after you negotiated with him last night. We were able to set up a cloaking field to accomplish this journey we are on to the battles in the west. Despite all his demands for you, thus far he has been extremely helpful."

"Good." Natasha sat back with relief, one of her worries erased.

"We're about to enter the cloaked passage," Sif added. "You can't see the woven magic, of course, but then neither can the Svartálfar."

Sif was right. Natasha  _couldn't_  see it, but she felt the moment they entered the enchanted tunnel, a sort of wormhole constructed of tightly woven runes and aett spells built by the enchantress and the Jotun as a shield against the enemy. Her body reacted instantly, and with a thrum of delight she knew Loki could sense it as well – on his own longship he picked up her knowledge of his and Amora's artistry as well as Natasha's physical reaction to it. Even though they were physically separated she felt he stood behind her, so closely the energy buzzed between them.

Serious for once, Amora leaned forward and spread her fingers over Natasha's knee. "You need to wage battle with your desires," the enchantress insisted. "I understand you've grown used to giving in to the fró∂leikr in your body springing from the bindrunes, but now you simply must learn to fight it."

"Yes." Natasha nodded. "You're absolutely right." If only she had listened to Amora from the beginning! But the siren call of the staves hidden inside the scrolls had been so insistent, and combined with Loki's own magical attraction she had been overwhelmed by the delicious sensations of combined sex and enchantment.

The mere thought of him made the red images of light scatter on the air-screen Sif and Amora had brought up. The women exclaimed as their neat lists were replaced by the figure of a pacing Jotun, his long black hair flying back in the backwind from the longboats. Loki was angry she wasn't at his side, and he had found a way to make certain Natasha knew about it.

"That bastard," Amora said with admiration, stabbing the image of the king with her writing quill. "He wove in attraction spells with the cloaking aett to capture your attention, and I didn't even see him do it. How long has be been studying magic?"

"I think he only started when I was taken to Jotunheim," Natasha admitted. "I'm the one to blame since I taught him." She spoke lightly, but the adelruna of the woven spells they voyaged through coursed through her body. Natasha had to grip the edge of her seat and pray she would survive the journey without coming apart. "Still, he was stronger than I ever could've imagined. I simply had to point out a section of magic within a scroll when we were together and he picked it up instantly."

The flying ship shuddered, and the holograph blinked and buzzed. Natasha fisted her hands, wishing they would arrive at the destination so she could run to the battlefield and leach some of the power within her.

She saw Amora and Sif look at each other, question in one face and acquiescence in the other. "I'm going to have to drain the energy burgeoning inside Natasha," Amora murmured. "Do you mind, dearest heart?" She concluded the question with a deep kiss on Sif's lips. Natasha could see their tongues touch with the gentleness of deep love.

"Do what you must." Sif pushed her away, and Amora nodded before rising to kneel in front of Natasha.

"Just relax," she counseled. "I'll make it easier for you." There was a light tug on Natasha's shoulder, and Amora's mouth covered hers.

* * *

Natasha found herself no longer in the longship. Instead she rode on the back of an impossibly large, strong stallion. Svaðilfari sat in front of her with his usual upright stance, but his long robes were parted over his legs to reveal chest, stomach, and more. She could feel his thigh muscles tense where she clung on as he urged the horse to a faster pace.

Behind Loki sat with his arms wrapped around her in turn. The three of them were pressed together on the back of the galloping charger with Natasha in the middle. Naturally the Jotun took the chance to whisper in her ear, calling her little bird and his foxgirl, nor were his hands idle as he touched the dip between her breasts to smooth over rippling belly down to the cleft between her thighs where they gripped the horse's back. His furs rucked up from the saddle, and she could feel the blue shaft against her back, already hard and demanding at her rear where her own furs were thrust aside by Loki's impetuous hands.

"Faster," Loki shouted to Svaðilfari.

"Natasha will need to set the pace," the elf shot back. "The horse needs to feel my passion to spur us on."

"Damn you to Hel!" Loki retorted.

"Get over yourself," Natasha said, incensed. His jealousy pissed her off. Who was he to give any demands? Gripping with her knees, Natasha rose up on horseback and felt for Svaðilfari's rearing cock displayed between the open folds of his robe. As soon as she folded her fist around him a long sigh uncurled from his mouth. "Ahhhhhh, Natasha…"

She heard a series of curses in the Jotun language, whispered into her ear like endearments. Her raised position made it easy for Loki to slide one hand between her legs from behind and whisper, "I will also take my share if you insist on making your entrance so available to me."

Before she could answer she was pulled back onto Loki's thumb. He curved into her like a virgin breaching his first woman, hissing as though he felt her sting of delightful pain from his administrations. "Ooh," he breathed into her ear. "You are ready for me, little one. So wet, so delightful – I  _will_  have what has been denied me for so long."

His thumb withdrew, and she whined at the loss of the sensation, but Loki filled her with one, two, three fingers, woven to stretch her out as he cupped his palm over her sex. "Go on and feel the stallion-man's styri," he continued. The murmur of that velvet voice increased Natasha's pleasure at the same time the words infuriated her. "In my turn I will have the very best of you."

"I can hear every word you say, little king," Svaðilfari said with his usual calm.

Natasha twisted around, feeling her folds slish around the Jotun's hand. "Did you just call my cunt the very best of me?"

"But no." Loki's eyebrows rose with supreme innocence, and his knees tightened on the girth of the horse. "I meant this." The other hand caressed the back of her head, smoothing over her skull as though his would tip it up and drink her like wine.

"I see our destination." Svaðilfari spoke over the wind blowing their hair back. "Make haste, my lady." His fingers found hers and tightened over her hold on his prick, so long and slender. Elegant was the only word for that curving length in her palm.

Loki cursed again and withdrew his hand from inside her. Steadying Natasha's hips, his teeth found the one spot on the side of her neck she couldn't resist as he moved to line up with her wetness. Natasha gasped as tip nudged her lips open and slowly, inexorably, slipped inside. Instantly she tightened around him as though she could keep it inside forever, smoothing tightened walls over the thick head and pulsing shaft. The length of him within made her fling her head back and shout as she tightened her grip on Svaðilfari's throbbing hardness. Instantly the horse gathered speed, and its hoofbeats made the action all the easier so she bounced off Loki's hips, the muscles of his legs and the strong hands at her waist guiding her easily. Fuck, it was  _so_  easy.

"Natasha. My lady." Svaðilfari leaned back, reins held with corded arms, and claimed her lips in a kiss. His mouth was tender, reserved, the embrace of a scholar.

"Now me," Loki insisted. He tilted her chin to meet his mouth, already open to taste tongue and breath to devour her from the inside out as he moved to pull her fully onto his thighs so he could thrust all the harder.

Natasha played with the little patch of skin just under Svaðilfari's slit, and he shouted as she drew a love rune from memory on the delightful bundle of nerves trembling for her touch alone. "We are close!" His words blew back on the wind, and although her eyes rolled back in her head from the ecstasy of Loki's prick driving inside her, Natasha saw they thundered towards a cliff's edge.

"Now," Loki insisted. "Give me your love. All your heat, your mouth, your tongue, heart, cunt, the vicious intelligence of you – I want it all now."

"Now!" Svaðilfari's shaft pulsed as the elf shouted, and a thick white gout of seed flew out from under Natasha's fingers. She always loved the bunching up feeling of a man's dick before it spilled, and it seemed the elves were even more intense in that ecstatic moment. The horse screamed, and the three of them galloped right off the edge of the cliff. Just as the rocks below them flew up ready to claim their bones for eternity, she vibrated in the hottest, most intense orgasm of her life, fluttering around Loki's own shoots of desire as he claimed her mouth and spent again and again inside her.

* * *

Inside her…

Amora fell back into Sif's arms, gasping as Natasha snapped back to the reality of the longboat. She wasn't on horseback, but in the company of her friends. Jesus, what had she done while she was so out of it and lured inside that erotic dream?

"Bythegodsineversawanythinglikethat…" the enchantress gabbled.

Natasha lifted both hands to her mouth. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I really didn't mean to. Sif, Amora – please forgive me."

Sif put her arms around Amora and nuzzled her neck. "What happened?" she demanded.

Amora shook her head. "Whatever it is, it's too strong for me. I have never seen such violent seid in my entire existence."

Natasha closed her eyes and managed to stop gasping for air. "I feel like the past few days have been spent apologizing for things I don't even understand, let alone can control. Still, I guess all I can do is say sorry."

With a long sigh, Amora leaned forward again and touched Natasha's knee. "You  _must_  let go of the energies surging through your body before we capture the Aether."

"How the hell am I going to do that if even you can't accomplish it?" Natasha cried. She could hardly approach Svaðilfari and Loki to ask if they wanted to have a threesome on a galloping horse.

"Angrboda or no, you'll simply have to purge the lust between you and the Jotun king," Amora insisted.

"Well, I tried that with therapy, but unfortunately I was called back to Asgard before it could work," Natasha snapped.

"No, that's not what I mean." Amora's eyes never left Natasha's face. "Now I see you must go straight to the source. You will have to take him to your bed and let him drain you of the bloodsong between you - there's no other way."


	19. The Strategy of Desire

The battlefields were in fen country surrounded by scrum of swamp and low scrub. It was a dreadful way to wage war, Loki considered as he picked his way through the puddles with disdain. There was no cover for tricks or strategems. Thor had a series of battalions stationed within a squared-off spiral of wall and low-hanging roof attached to the longboat docks, but the Asgardian Fortaleza stuck out as a target – he and Amora would have to work on a shield for the troops and commanders stationed within to keep them safe.

Later Natasha would tell him the design of the actual fort was known as a Fibonacci spiral, a mathematical shape based on naturally occurring formulae. He liked that idea, but he could have done with a good bout of the Fucking instead. He wanted the flame-haired spy among his furs after a day at war, arching up under his hands as he stroked her waist and flanks. Yes, rather the pale skin of Natasha's body beneath him instead of the irregular waters and lands spreading around the longships' dock like a sludge-colored Hnefafl board, but for the moment Loki had to make do with boring battle plans.

Still, as soon as Natasha descended from the ship where she had thought to fly away from him Loki strode forth and skewered her with lust in his eyes, his need very evident in the way he followed each line of her body. Of course the stallion-man was there as well: Svaðilfari, the elfling. Loki darted a look filled with cold antagonism at the man, but he merely returned it with arrogance evident in his blue eyes.

Loki had created the galloping scenario inside the cloaked tunnel for himself and Natasha. The thought of plowing her on horseback as they plunged over a cliff together in orgasm would bring her fró∂leikr leaping out in full force to meet his magic, and later she would allow him to plunder her mouth again with his tongue. Somehow things had gone wrong and Svaðilfari had wormed his way into the scenario as well, making Loki's jaw clench and cold anger bolt through his veins.

Furthermore the elf ignored the hints to take himself off and leave Loki with his mate. Svaðilfari simply allowed Loki's suggestions to inspect the barracks or settle the horses drip off his back as he waited, straight and still as the ice tower itself, at Loki's side.

Both of them were doomed to be disappointed. Natasha descended in the company of the shield-maiden and Amora, all deep in conversation. The three women looked like the twinkling winter lights that appeared at the depths of winter on Jotunehim to streak across the sky with mysterious portent. His firebird's red curls bracketed by blonde hair on either side was a breath-taking sight, and Loki allowed a sigh to escape as he watched her enter the spiral of the place where they would wage battle with All-Father Thor and his troops.

"Tell me, Majesty. Where is your wife?" Svaðilfari's eyes were hooded with lack of interest, and the cold anger seared Loki's veins again.

"She preferred to stay in Asgard."

"Ah. The queen likes life in the palace, then? The parties? The courtiers? The food?"

Loki made the tiniest murmur of sound in his throat at the final question. Anyone else would have overlooked the error. Naturally Svaðilfari picked up on it at once, one pointed ear nearly swiveling towards the Jotun with interest. "All of the above," Loki said to cover his lapse and hurried to change the subject. "You have visited the fens before, yes?"

Svaðilfari bowed. "It has been my honor."

"In that case," Loki continued smoothly, "you will do me the favor of showing me the fortifications. Perhaps Agent Romanoff will accompany us as well since she has never visited the place either." The two males faced each other, each trying to garner the other's intentions. Loki made his eyes wider and waited for Svaðilfari's realization the elf would have the upper hand in the scheme. At last Svaðilfari tilted his head in acknowledgement and wheeled to enter the spiral.

Loki waited until the man disappeared before gusting with mirth. Svaðilfari's expertise would raise him to the esteemed level of guide, leaving Loki and Natasha to follow. In such a torturous place a Jotun and mortal could get lost together quite easily, and he vowed to make certain it would occur.

* * *

 

"Are you quite well, my knight?" Amora had come up with the pet name for Sif after watching her win a duel with Fandral. Many ladies sighed for the male courtier, but Amora had eyes for none save the shield maiden in silver armor, nimble as a fish in battle and sweet as spiced wine on Amora's tongue.

Sif lay on the bed of her quarters within the Forteleza, one arm shielding her eyes. "No, I am not well."

Amora closed the door and sat beside Sif on the bed. She tried to lean forward and nip the soft skin at Sif's neck, but the shield maiden moved away impatiently. "What is it?" Amora whispered.

Sif sat suddenly and pulled Amora to sit between her booted legs. "I am tired of this farce, the pretense we are naught to each other but companions. Do you see this ring on the chain around my neck? I wish to give it to you one day to wear on your finger so we could show the entire court you are mine."

"Most gladly I would wear it if only to feel the warmth from your fine breasts on my skin, Sif." Amora spoke lightly, but her heart pounded. "Lovely champion, we cannot. Such a thing does not exist in Asgard, and if we did so the court would pitch us out on our rumps."

"And what of that? When did either of us care what anyone thought?" Sif's eyes devoured Amora's face as she began to undo the tiny buttons of the enchantress's placket. "We could tell them all to stick their laws up their arseholes and do as we wish."

Amora leaned back and sighed as Sif's battleworn fingers slid into her shirt to caress the plump nipples within. Her breasts had always been sensitive, and Sif knew exactly how to tweak, pinch, twist them to get the hidden folds beneath Amora's skirts fluttering, soaking the fine braies above her rolled stockings. "Remember I've been pitched out before as you describe. Such an occurrence is hardly enjoyable. I had to endure taunts and teasing for centuries…"

"Taunts and teases!" Sif withdrew her hand, and Amora sighed at the lack of contact, tried to press forward to feel those fingertips against her skin once more. "Amora, I would give my left fist for you. They could strike it from my body if it won me the right to court you, wed you, bed you with full knowledge and blessings of the Allfather. You're talking about words, which mean nothing!"

"Words can be more painful than blood," Amora responded. "In any case, there is no hope in Asgard." Slyly she wriggled to sit flush on Sif's lap so their hips were lined up. "I rather like the secrecy of us," she whispered in Sif's ear. "There is no excitement like tiptoeing to your rooms where you dream in your maiden's bed. It brings me to the brink to wake you with my kisses and a bold caress just there, especially when you spurt your sweet honey over my fingers." She slid her fingers to the croft at Sif's breeches, but the warrior evaded her again.

"On Asgard, no, but Midgard is different. Natasha mentioned such a thing was possible in her world. Would you wed me, Amora? Would you become my lady in word and deed? For I am prepared to bend my knee and offer my life and soul to you."

The question was delivered with such a straight look of courage and decision it made Amora's heart flutter in her chest. "I… Midgard? Would you truly give up being a goddess and live in squalor in such an anthill of a place?"

"With you at my side? Yes." Sif never wavered. "What say you to my proposal? Will you wear my ring? Be mine for all eternity?"

The breath in Amora's throat threatened to engulf her, and she rose swiftly and backed away. She had always lusted after Sif, but such a thing… a promise to one being as a connection by sacred vows until Ragnorak. It would be … by the gods, it would be…

"I think I understand your answer." Sif rose and went to the window. "You enjoy the lays with me, but can you truly imagine a life with one person for the rest of time? It would never be enough for one such as you. Forgive me: I was foolish even to consider such a thing was possible."

With the sullen light breaking through the slats to stripe Sif's strong face and her tensed muscles, Amora thought her lover had never looked more desirable. A low growl rose from her throat and she leaped forward to catch Sif's waist, to kiss those firm lips and coax the shield maiden to remove her clothes, but Sif caught Amora's hands in her fists and shook her head. "I am sorry," she said with true regret. "I wish I could stay in such a light affair to bed you in the shadows at your every behest. But I love you, Amora. You are my lady, and I cannot be with you if it is not sanctioned by the gods."

Amora drew back, the thudding of her blood increasing. "I will – I will try!" she cried, but Sif shook her head.

"Perhaps it is time to draw apart and see what lies in our hearts without the confusion of sensual delight. Please go now – if you stay any longer I'll push you to the floor and have my way with you."

"Such a thing is exactly what I want." The words were broken as Amora's sobs.

"I know it is. But I want more than you can give, and with that I must let you go."

Dazed, Amora felt strong arms push her out of the room. She saw the bright image of Sif puckering her forehead as though she carried the weight of the realms within the little ring on the neck chain. Then the door banged shut, and Amora was left alone in the hall.

* * *

 

"The staircase lies in the very center like a spine attaching all the fort's components." Svaðilfari gestured as he led the way up the steps. Loki followed with Natasha, keeping his arms folded behind his back. The time would come for him and his mate, and he was willing to be patient until it happened.

"And the ground floor is obviously storage of munitions as well as emergency surgery and other field necessities." Natasha nodded with approval. "It's a compact design and well thought-out, although it is too visible along the low horizon of the fens. Who came up with it?"

"No one knows," the elf answered. "The bones of the place existed here long before Amora redesigned it for our use. The simplicity and functionality of the current design are testaments to her magic and intelligence." They emerged on the landing and Svaðilfari waved at the hall. "Therein lie meeting rooms, maps, and training cells. Above are the sleeping quarters – small but comfortable. Of course the Allfather has a grander suite of rooms, but Thor has opened them to the healers as needed. Unfortunately the number of casualties has exceeded our expectations."

"I could help with that," Loki murmured, "if we can take a look at some of the scrolls later, Natasha." A flare of triumph seared his lungs as he caught her wary glance. Yes, she was on her mettle, but there was interest in her eyes as well.

"We don't have any scrolls here, Majesty," Natasha snapped.

"On the contrary. I filled several trunks with the most promising documents and had them carried to the longships, simply as preparation of course." He made his gaze supremely innocent and had to stifle howls of laughter as Svaðilfari frowned. The conversation had run away from the elf's level of comfort – no longer was this a mere stroll through a new facility.

"It is best if we continue our walk," Svaðilfari stated.

_For all the world as if he were a tutor interrupted by an unruly student during a tedious lecture!_  Loki bent his head in agreement, if only to hide his triumph. "Of course," he soothed. "We waste time – by all means, continue your explanations."

He waved Natasha to walk in front as the stairs narrowed. It was a courteous gesture, one that allowed him to watch the luscious sway of her hips as she ascended. From below he caught the glimpse of trim ankles as the skirt swayed over her instep with the motion of ascent.  _Perhaps Asgardian garb is not so bad,_  Loki mused. The peep-show of skin against silk was incredibly titillating, and the leathers he had adopted in the realm hid his own arousal from curious eyes. Did he see a flash of rolled stockings against the taut flesh of her thighs? Loki felt his prick swell at the thought. Furs were all very well but left little to the imagination.

Of course his very favorite view was that of his firebird's red curls against her pale skin, naked by the light of their fire. Soon he would have her again thus or die trying.

They had reached the next floor by that time, and Loki caught his lip between his teeth not to moan aloud when he saw the bedchambers along the hall. There they would all retire, and he would make certain to discover which room belonged to the exciting mortal.

A series of heavy footfalls pounded up the steps. "Your grace." A soldier appeared from behind and motioned to Svaðilfari. "You must come this instant. The Allfather needs your approval before sending out the next line of Ljosalfar."

"But we are in the middle of…!" Svaðilfari caught himself and bowed over Natasha's hand. "Of course. Forgive me, my lady. It appears I must desert you."

When he was alone with her, Loki turned to Natasha with sparkling eyes. "A most principled ambassador, to be sure! Would he apologize for the inconvenience as he thrust inside you, do you think?"

"What the hell did you do to us during the longship passage here?" She ignored his jibe. "It nearly killed Amora, whatever it was."

Loki allowed a shred of his longing to become visible in his face. "I have no control over the sweet power between us, little bird. I may command great magicks, but this is grander than anything we could ever discover in a dusty scroll."

Natasha huffed impatiently and tried to get past him and to follow Svaðilfari downstairs, but Loki stopped her with one arm around her waist. "Let us continue our search within the scrolls tonight," he whispered in her ear. "There is no one who can stop us. You and I together – 'twould be like the nights we clutched each other's backs and discovered the mysteries of love and fró∂leikr inside our minds and bodies. Fuse your lips to mine, firebird, and let me lead the way. Can you deny it was the most fulfilling, exciting thing you had ever done?"

Ah, his firebird commanded great control. Any other being would have missed the tiny hitch of her breath, the slight flutter of her lashes, the speeding of her pulse under his thumb, but his quick senses caught them all. Loki had to have her soon or he would explode with passion.

"There's a slight problem with that plan," Natasha retorted. "You have a wife, see."

"I already told you…"

"But you still don't get it," she continued in a level voice. "The magic between us in Jotunheim was unparalleled because we were able to give ourselves to each other with nothing between us. The little matter of Angrboda ends that. You have ended  _us_ , Loki."

Rage curled through his entire body at her words. "Yet we  _did give ourselves to each other._ You promised yourself to me, Natasha, and you broke that promise. Not only did you turn back on your sacred vow to be mine, to be my mate, to be my center, but you  _knew_  you would be faithless to me even as you said the words before our Fucking. You said them just to get my prick inside your cunt to slake your lust because you wanted me. Is that not so?" He moved his fists to her shoulders and shook her. "Is it not?"

Her pause allowed them to hear the noises inside the fort – murmurs of plans from the floor below, Svaðilfari's voice and Thor's response. The noises drifted up the shaft of the stairs, poking at the tiny bubble surrounding him and his firebird.

"Unfortunately, my job entails some things I don't enjoy." Natasha's gaze was level and speared him right to his heart. "No, keep your mouth shut for once – it's my turn to respond. If you and I had come together by choice, if you had come to me in Manhattan and courted me to use the Aesir term, and if I had given you my promise freely there would be nothing that could have come between us.  _Nothing._  I would never have broken my promise. Let me just add my faithlessness gave your realm the energy it needs to come to return to glory, incase you've forgotten. And furthermore all your magic is from my hands and the scrolls I brought to you. So don't try to guilt-trip me any longer, pal. I'm really sick of it." She cleared her throat. "That said, every atom of my existence wants you, Loki, and I'm not going to pretend otherwise. I ache for your touch. In fact, I'm ready to fly apart into a billion pieces standing here next to you. Just so you know."

Down the hall a door slammed, but Loki took no notice. Natasha's glorious face blurred as tears slipped down his cheeks. "My little bird, my own foxgirl. This is – oh, Natasha, this is the most precious gift."

He was about to draw her into his arms and taste the words she had just spoken with tongue and teeth, but a whirl of gold and silks prevented the kiss. Amora, her own face streaked with tears, ran between him and Natasha. "Hey! Amora, wait!" Natasha evaded Loki's grasp and ran after the enchantress.

Eyes wide, he watched as she escaped yet again. Loki staggered to the wall, felt blindly with one arm for support, and tried to calm the beating of his heart.


	20. The Aether

There was no time to speak with Amora and discover what was the matter with the enchantress. By the time Natasha reached the ground floor the place was already in an uproar with several Asgardian lieutenants barking orders at the ground troops. The soldiers emerged from an underground bunker to stand in file beside the coil of the Fortaleza's spiral, hair spiked and eyes bleary from being woken up so suddenly.

"The svartálfar have awoken the Aether." Thor strode to Amora's side and put one hand on her shoulder. "Will you help us?"

Natasha watched as Amora pressed her lips together firmly. "Of course, Allfather," she said. "Do you have a longship ready?"

"Nay, a dartship will be quicker if you are to go behind the enemies' backs. Take The Minnow – 'tis the swiftest sail we have in our fleet. And no disrespect, enchantress, but 'twould be best if Loki went with you." Thor wheeled and shouted, "Your Majesty, will you join us?"

"I'm already here, Allfather," Loki snapped, emerging from the heavy fort doors. He crossed his arms and raised one eyebrow. "No need to bellow like an ice-demon looking for a mate."

"Will you go with Amora and see what you can do with the Aether?" Thor signaled to a passing assistant. "Prepare The Minnow for the enchantress and King Loki of Jotunheim. They must depart this instant."

"Natasha could be of great help to us if she came as well," Loki began.

She shook her head. "I'm better in the field," Natasha insisted. "You two go do your thing and I'll work with Sif to coordinate the ground troops. Last one back buys drinks tonight." She couldn't stop a grin from spreading on her face at the thought of hand-to-hand after such a long period of inactivity.

Not bothering to see Loki's reaction, Natasha turned on her heel and went inside to find Sif. The shield maiden was already running down the steps, buckling the sheath around her hips with practiced fingers. "The vermin wish to taste my steel, is that it? By the gods, they chose the wrong day to interfere with me. I'll have their balls for this."

"Sounds good. I'm still in this damn gown though…" Natasha wondered if she had a moment to change.

Sif tossed a limp, black shape at her – Natasha's own catsuit. "Thought you might need this. And make haste! My sword hungers for dwarf blood."

* * *

The advance was more of a crawl across the damp fens. When they arrived, Svaðilfari broke away from his line of elf archers. He rode up and shouted to Thor, "They have the throg-cannon trained on us! I'll alert my soldiers to be ready. A welter of silver arrows should take them down a bit and give us room to move." Under his thighs the stallion twisted at a mere touch of the reins before the elf thundered off across the fens.

Sif made a noise of admiration in her throat. "I may be attracted to a completely sort of person, but you can't deny he looks damn good on a horse."

Natasha had no time to voice her agreement. The lines of soldiers – elves, Aesir, and Jotnar – were visible against the horizon. Beyond them lay the enemy with their heavy fortifications as well as the unimaginable power of the Aether like an unseen cancer ready to erupt. A shower of shining arrows arched up from the elves' bows, and Natasha lifted the Eird rifle to her shoulder. Thor had taught her to shoot it during free afternoons at the Stark Tower range. Who would have guessed it would come in handy so quickly?

She raised it to her shoulder, and Sif crouched next to her. "On my count," the warrior said.

And then it all went to hell.

The silver arrows stopped as though they met an invisible, impenetrable force. "The Aether," Sif muttered. As Natasha gaped with disbelief, the missiles turned and shot straight back at the troops who had fired them in the first place, along with the Jotun ice-spears and Eird missiles. The weapons of the Aesir troops were attacking them.

"My god," Natasha said. "We're sitting ducks out here."

Underneath their feet the ground rumbled, and she shared a grim look with Sif. The svartálfar were on the move.

"I've never thought in a thousand years of battle to see a day when I would counsel retreat," Sif said, "but this might be that day."

"Wait." Natasha pointed to the sky. Overhead a slender ship flashed like a larger arrow headed straight for the enemy's camp. "If I'm right, Amora and Loki are on their way."

Sif reached out, found Natasha's wrist, and clamped her fingers around it. "Gods, let them take care. And let their aim be swift and true."

The ship hung in the sky, seemed to make up its mind like a wasp going in for the sting, and darted towards the unseen dwarves. A few moments of tortured waiting passed, and Sif sucked in her breath. A slight tug pulled Natasha into her arms, and she looked into Sif's eyes, bright as stars seen from a dark tower. "You are not the one I want, nor am I the one you want, but this could be our last moment, and I want to say goodbye to someone properly."

Natasha picked up on the sentiment and crushed her lips to Sif's mouth. The warrior moaned, wrapped a strong hand around Natasha's neck, and deepened the kiss. It wasn't the same as being with – well, anyone she truly desired, and yet in that one instant Natasha could  _imagine_  having Sif in bed. They were so alike for one thing, invested in battle and weapons.

Still, it wasn't Sif she wanted to kiss goodbye.

Reluctantly Natasha broke the embrace and looked towards the horizon. The ground shuddered again, and she heard a protesting screech of metal against metal. It was followed by a loud 'Thoom'. The world shivered…

And grew still.

"Either we have lost our entire army or The Minnow's quest has succeeded," Sif hazarded.

Natasha reached for the warrior's hand and gripped it in both of hers. "Ready?" she asked quietly. It was time to follow Svaðilfari straight into the dragon's mouth and confront the enemy.

Sif stood and hefted her sword. "Ready."

"Excellent." Eird rifle in hand, Natasha strode forward across the fens. Water sluiced in complex patterns underfoot, but there were enough hillocks poking up to keep from getting sucked into the muck.  _Rule One of warfare,_  she thought –  _always keep your feet dry._

There was a shout from the direction where they were headed followed by another explosion. Green light glowed in the sky, and Natasha nearly slipped into the mud before Sif steadied her. Another cry from the front made the warrior suck in her breath. "By the gods!" she breathed. "Those are my men – Hodur, Volstagg, Baldur – I can hear their scurvy voices! 'Tis victory, Natasha!"

She started to run with frills of shallow water around her ankles. Ignoring the muck, Natasha took after her. The air was cool, so chilled it stung her chest in a good way. The shock was a reminder they were both alive.

Yes, they lived – but who else did? Thor? Amora? Svaðilfari? Loki?

In the distance Natasha saw the dark gray figure of a dwarf, its white hair braided in complex patterns. Her super vision clicked-in, and as Sif raised her sword Natasha shouted, "Mine!" The Eird rifle went to her shoulder, and she fired a blast at the thing. The dwarf hissed something in an unknown language, clapped one hand to his chest, and fell in the mud at their feet.

If the Aether still stood… But the next round of shining arrows was soaring from the elves through the air towards the enemy. Natasha heard another shout of triumph as the missiles shot through the unseen barrier and found their targets.

Several things happened at once. The dwarf she had just targeted exploded in a flash of red and black as the magic from the Eird rifle unraveled his body. Somewhere a horse screamed. Thor's voice was heard over the scream of weapons shouting someone's name.

Then another green flash lit the sky, and it all went still.

* * *

Sif and Natasha returned to camp with the army. The Minnow's berth was yet empty, and Natasha stifled an interior ache at the sight, a sharp pain so intense she felt someone was scraping her innards with a bent coat hanger. There was no time to wait for news. Instead, she and Sif headed to the underground rooms to take stock of the army.

The halls below were filled with excited voices, the clink of ale hastily drawn from a huge barrel, loud laughter as the soldiers told their stories and clapped each other on the back. Discarded armor, wet clothes, and dirty weapons littered the rooms.

"Enough!" Sif thundered. "Not another sup until the mess is cleaned off the floors!" Ignoring a flood of protest, she continued, "Where are the wounded? The dead?"

"Casualties were light enough," one grizzled soldier grunted as he picked up a welter of spears at his feet. "The Minnow tipped the Aether afore any dwarf could take the rest of us down. Good thing, since we were ripe for the picking with our own weapons fighting us. Eh lads?"

"And the wounded?"

"Upstairs." A Viking lass with bright carroty curls jerked her thumb towards the stairs. "Healers took in a few of our snipers and that white-haired elf, one what looks like a woman. More than me even."

"Everyone looks more like a woman than you," Volstagg sniggered. He was rewarded with a clout over the head from the red-headed Viking's drinking vessel.

Natasha didn't wait to hear the rest.  _Svaðilfari!_  She ran up the steps, her heart thudding in her chest. Red spots blotted her vision. If the elf died she would find the rest of the dwarves herself and pluck out their eyes.

At the top of the staircase she stopped. Loki stood in the main hall holding the elf ambassador. Svaðilfari's neck bent back over the Jotun's shoulder, and his robe was white no longer: now blazoned with scarlet, Svaðilfari bled over Loki's armor and onto the floor.

* * *

"He rode straight to the front of the line from what I hear." Loki spoke in a low tone just outside the healing rooms where Svaðilfari lay. "A ridiculous thing to do – brave as well." A shred of admiration twisted his face into an unwilling smile.

"I saw him ride off, but I had no idea he went right for the svartálfar!" Natasha marveled. "What happened?"

"It's all a guess." Loki swiped his face with one arm. "Amora and I negotiated The Minnow so we could fight the Aether and corral its power. She was a true heroine, Natasha. I saw her confront the dwarves and not blink an eyelash before combining her powers with mine to reverse the magicks and turn the Aether against the svartálfar themselves."

"And Svaðilfari?"

"From our position I saw him brought down by a svartál sword. His horse was slain, and yet he picked up a spear from the hewn arm of a companion and drove in on foot."

"Holy shit." Natasha pictured the scene – the elf's arrogant expression as he fought the svartálfar. Probably his face had been filled with distaste as though he waged a task that was necessary and much dirtier than he would have preferred. "Loki," she added.

At the sound of his name on her lips the intent light appeared in his eyes. "What is it, bird?" he asked.

"How did Svaðilfari return here? The truth please," she added.

"Ah. The thing is – there was no one else, and …"

"And you landed The Minnow to save him. Right?" Natasha crossed her arms.

He didn't answer, but the glint in his eyes increased. "Are you angry?"

"Furious." Natasha waited for the tell-tale dimple beside his mouth to appear before she continued. "Tonight there's going to be all kinds of meetings and debriefings. We'll have to answer a lot of questions, figure out our next moves. The whole thing will probably go into overdrive, and I doubt we'll get out before morning."

"Morning," Loki repeated. He tipped his head to one side. "A lovely time in Asgard, even in this filthy swamp. The light pearls the sky, just visible from our quarters upstairs. I imagine it would caress your cheek with the touch of a lover to make your skin look like the softest velvet. Your hair tumbled across the pillow would be all colors in its glow: red of course, but violet as well and blue-shadowed with mystery."

_Well, didn't he have the silvery tongue!_  Natasha lifted her chin to challenge him and was met with Loki's breed of arrogant amusement as he shuttered his lids to look sideways at her through long lashes. She knew it was the time to tell him to fuck off, and yet the words wouldn't quite form in her mouth. "Morning," she said again.

Even to her ears it sounded like a promise.

* * *

The night went just as she had described. There was no time even for a bath before Thor herded them into a long room lined with maps and gestured to a Vanir called Hogun to begin. The man spoke with a low voice, but Natasha caught the fierce intelligence behind his shy front.

Sif sat next to her at the table, and Amora was on the other side. Natasha felt she was caught between two electric fields and channeling the current between the erstwhile lovers. Both women answered Thor's questions steadily and added to Hogun's recreation of the battle. Yet once Natasha caught the brilliance of Amora's gaze, eyes bright with unshed tears. On her left she saw Sif's fingernails dug into the warrior's palms, whitening with the pressure. Obviously things were still wrong there, still knotted with desire.

That was the problem with lust, Natasha reminded herself. It made everything appear in a light so bright that obvious barriers dissolved under the force of want and need.

The thought made her raise her eyes to where Loki sat across the table sprawled in his chair with one arm along the back of the chair. In turn he measured her gaze, pausing only to answer a question Thor asked about the future of the relations between the Jotnar and Svartelheim. "We will take our surrender-gifts portion and leave them to their misery," Loki declared.

"And what of the Aether?" Natasha had to bring up the elephant in the room.

Thor twisted his neck and grimaced. "This is the crux of the matter. Naught else compares to the power within, not the dwarves' gold nor their jewels."

"If they commanded such a mighty source of magic," Natasha argued, "I would imagine they could do more than mine metals and make pretty daggers out of them. You have three groups represented here: Elves, Jotuns, and Aesir. Each deserves a powerful weapon in return for risking their people."

"Jotunheim just received the Casket," Amora muttered.

Loki pounded on the table and rose. "Which was ours in the first place!" he shouted.

"This is what I feared," Thor sighed. "We stood together against a common enemy, but it is incredible how quickly such bonds disappear after a victory."

"Why don't we put this to the svartálfar themselves? We want the Aether and two other weapons just as powerful as its force. Once we see what they can create for us you can all have your little argument and decide who gets what." Natasha gestured at the table.

His face pale, Loki sat down. "It seems a good compromise. I accept."

"And I," Thor declared.

"And I'm going to speak for Svaðilfari and say Alfheim accepts as well." Natasha nodded firmly, and the meeting turned to the matter of reclaiming the dead and exchanging prisoners of war.

* * *

Once long shanks of meat were produced for the table Natasha stole a roll of bread and an apple. She flitted out of the room with the stolen breakfast in her arms and tiptoed up the stairs to the long hall where they were to sleep.

First she wanted a bath. She went into her room, tossed the food onto her bed, and filled a small tub with cool water since heating seemed beyond the power of the Fortaleza. No matter, she merely wanted to wash off the mud from her flesh and feel human again. The soap sluiced over her breasts and thighs, puddled in her collarbone. She couldn't help tipping her head to sigh with relief as she poured water over her hair and dunked under the surface to rinse off.

Wet ringlets dripped against her neck as she climbed out, wound a towel around hips, and sauntered back to the bedroom.

Loki lay back on one elbow among her pillows, eating her apple. If she were honest with herself, Natasha had to say his appearance was hardly unexpected. As soon as she appeared he tossed the fruit aside, rose from the mattress, and stalked forward to fold her into his arms.

"Hey," Natasha protested. "My bed! My food!"

"Just please let me…" His voice was cut off by a violent tremor running through his long frame. "Firebird," he breathed. "It has seemed an impossible age since I held you thus."

Natasha felt herself get bent backwards into a desperate, messy kiss. Instantly Loki's tongue was in her mouth twisting against her teeth, exploring hard palate and soft skin.  _Mm, the taste of him._  She had nearly forgotten the cool mint, the sharp male flavor, slightly bitter but incredibly delicious - impossible to resist. She slid one arm around his neck, and Loki moaned into her mouth with a rush of warm breath. He flung her flimsy towel aside and palmed the globes of her ass, lifted her to straddle his waist as he carried her to the bed.

"Oh, shit." Natasha flung back her head as Loki flung her onto the pillows and climbed on top of her. "Oh, fuck. Oh, well." Strong as she was, her limbs trembled under his assault.

"Firebird," he whispered. "My firebird."


	21. Center

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much PWP. Enjoy.

Loki cupped Natasha's cheek. His eyes bored into hers as he deliberately felt her bottom lip with one finger and pushed it into her mouth. "Suck," he orderded.

She swirled her tongue down to the base, flicked it over the pad of his callused fingertip. His skin flashed blue and the red eyes burned with lust. As soon as she released him he palmed her ass again and pushed the wet tip inside her puckered tightness and the ring of muscle, making her hiss with pleasure. At the same time he caressed her face, bent to kiss her so softly it was like the touch of winter air. The combination of romantic lover and filthy bedmate had her toes curling, scrabbling against the covers. "Scrolls?" she gasped when he panted heavily against her neck.

"No. You are all the magic I need…" Loki interrupted himself to pull Natasha onto his hips, moving the fingertip inside her just enough to feel the sting, the burn, the strange pleasure. He combined it with those rhythms only he could give her, the mathematically brilliant combination of thrusting in and out woven with polyhedrons, tesseracts, probably runic spells as well.

Natasha clasped his neck and tilted her head back to regard him. Under the stiff leather of his breeches Loki pushed against her damp nudity, her center. "You know what I want," she said.

"I do. But do you deserve it?" He withdrew slightly, eyes slitting with erotic challenge.

Her mouth curved. He had forgotten she knew just as much as he did, Jotun sex teachers and ice dances be damned. Natasha bent, licked one flat nipple, and blew on it. She trailed her nails down his neck to pinch the tender peak as he watched intently. "Move so the light shines on us," he ordered. "I want to watch you touch me."

She pushed up and flipped into a back handspring, propelled her body over his to land behind him. The move earned her a hum of surprised pleasure. Her legs bracketed his hips as she nuzzled the back of his neck and licked the Cyrillic letters of her name, Наташа, into the blue flesh with little flickers of her tongue. Loki moaned and let his head fall back on her shoulder when she scratched down the strong planes of his chest and belly to the waist of the leather pants he wore. "Can you see that?" she asked. "See my nails on your skin? It's what you dream about, Loki. This is why you sent the ravens to watch me. Right?"

With a flash he grasped her fingers and brought them to the stiff codpiece covering his sex. "To make certain you still were," he said.

"Were what, baby?" Natasha kissed the strong line of jaw, the delicate sharpness of his cheekbone.

"Just were. Were you. Were there, even though it was in another realm."

"Oh." She froze, watched his jaw clench so close to her lips she could feel the buzz of imminent touch. "And that was important?"

Loki made an impatient noise in his throat, clasped her forearms, and flipped her back over among the pillows so he could collapse on top of her. She allowed the move if only to see his face and watch his eyebrows knot with anger, the patrician nostrils flare with simmering emotion. "You know it was." A slight shake of his head before he kissed her deeply, suckling her tongue.

She could taste the mint of his breath combined with a flavor uniquely his. They breathed in tandem, exploring each other's mouths as though it was a new realm. Loki reared his hips and fumbled with the stiff leather, and she murmured against his teeth, "I've got this. Don't move."

The codpiece was strapped to the laces of the leather breeches. Natasha untied the strings quickly and pushed his pants down to his knees with the flats of her feet, unable to hold back a sharp intake as his heavy erection fell onto her thigh. He echoed her sigh instantly. It was incredible how quickly they had fallen back into the rhythmic give and take of their sex, of 'the Fucking' as he would say.

Not about to let him have her yet, Natasha pressed her hand against his belly. She managed to slide far enough down on the bed to lick the blue foreskin of his prick, peel it back as Loki reared back and cried out her name. "What are you… Natasha!"

Ah, perhaps she could teach him something else, then. She suctioned the head into her mouth, tongued the tiny slit to taste salt and precum, all distinctly Loki in flavor. She could never mistake it for anyone else. Gently she let him feel her teeth, let him know that girls could bite. An answering whimper told her he understood.

Natasha opened her throat and took him in. The wiry hair at the base tickled her nose as she weighed his balls in her palm, caressed the tight pouch with her fingers as she hummed and swallowed around him.

A moment later his palms were on either side of her face, pulling her off him. "Firebird, you will make me do it too soon. I want you underneath me, and on top, held up in my arms, and… and I want…" Loki stopped and pulled her up to her knees, bent to kiss her red curls and find the throbbing little clit hidden there. Well, he certainly was a fast learner. Natasha wound her fingers through his long black locks and groaned with approval. Like him, she wanted to watch. He was too beautiful not to enjoy with eyes and cunt both.

Quickly he found the pressure she liked best, the flickering touch teasing her orgasm just out of reach. "Loki!" she begged.

His head shook as though he knew what she wanted and was amused by it. And – damn him, he had guessed what she had licked into his neck. Natasha felt him write his name in the spiky letters of the Jotnar with his tongue on her quivering slit so the word  _Loki_  would always be there.

Her lips peeled back, and she felt her teeth show like a wolf on the kill. With a sharp tug she pulled him up to face her, jaw glistening with her juices. "Fuck me now," Natasha said.

He swept her legs out from underneath her, kicked off his leggings, and held himself upright and ready with one hand. "Now?"

Natasha bound him close with her thighs, bringing the heavy phallus right against her. "Now," she repeated.

In one motion Loki sank tongue and cock into her. They screamed against each other's mouths, overcome by the full sensation.  _At last,_  Natasha thought.  _At last._  "You taste like me," she whispered as he withdrew and breached her again, torturously slow.

"And you taste like me, you and me combined on our tongues." While he spoke Loki's hips sank his dick into her again and again, always with the intelligent rhythm she loved so much. She was addicted to it. Natasha wanted nothing more than to fuck the Jotun prince for hours.

"I want you," she repeated.

"Little bird." Loki pushed them up off the bed and staggered to his feet, one strong arm around Natasha's waist and the other holding her legs in place with his fist. She clung onto his shoulders, rose and fell with the movements of his hips. Loki pushed his hawked nose into her curls and took a deep breath. She heard the inrush of air, his urgent whisper. "I thought I would melt when you left me, that –  _mmm_  - my blood was completely gone. It was cruel, Natasha. You were my –  _ungh_  – center! And then I was empty again." One strong thrust jacked her up against him so he could capture her mouth and bite her bottom lip.

Her palms were slick with sweat against his arms. Natasha pushed herself up off him, cartwheeled backwards, and fisted her hips. He lifted his chin to face her, his straining dick a weapon, a spear, an arrow pointed at her. She felt spirals of desire careen through her chest and cunt at the sight. "As long as Angrboda is okay with it, I'm not going anywhere."

"Yes, but…" Loki pushed her back against the wall with his body, held her in place with one fist on either side of her face. "I don't want any other names in this room," he said. "Not now. This day it is you and I as though the realms had ceased to exist. And I want to thrust inside you again." Mercilessly he captured her hand, guided it to his prick. "He wants to be inside you again."

"Sit on the bed." Natasha thought it was her turn to give the orders. "Go on, Loki." She straddled him and guided him back inside, watching his eyes turn dark as he canted up into her. "Is that what you wanted, baby? To push that hard cock inside me and make me scream with pleasure? Is that why –  _oh fuck_ – is that why you sent me the dream about the stallion crashing over the cliff? So I'd want your pretty face sucking me down there, want to suck you back in my mouth, every inch of you, so we could spend hours just fucking like this –  _mm she gushes for you_  – until we both come so hard we white out? Hm?"

"Fuck, yes," Loki panted. His mouth drew back as though he were in pain, and his arms pinioned her to his side. "Sh, don't move my own foxgirl do not…" They panted together, tasting breath and the merest hint of tongue. It was all she wanted. The Aether could have rolled in the window and she wouldn't be able to stop riding it out on that achingly stiff cock he had up inside her so deep, so deliciously hers.

"You are my center," Loki blurted. Surprised, Natasha looked into the red eyes. They turned Aesir again, white with green pupils blown wide in the dim light of her tiny chamber. His alien heart pumped against her chest. Although every line of her body quivered with need, Natasha framed his face and stared into his eyes as they turned red again. The Jotun. Her Jotun. It was a silent moment, the eye of the storm.

Wordlessly Loki pulled her in for a long kiss. Gently his tongue lapped against hers, caressing lips and teeth. It seemed he wanted every part, even those that could not be seen. They broke apart to stare at each other again, taste the delicious savor of new kisses. She felt him gather her hair in one broad palm and pull her back to look into her eyes, his want evident in each line of his face, of his body. "Tell me," he said. "Tell me, Natasha."

"I…" She shook her head. "You don't know what you're asking. No."

Loki ignored her refusal as he pushed her up off him and shivered between her taut thighs. A tremor went through his body before he gasped and seemed to gain control of himself. "You were so strong, so independent in my homeland. I wanted to carry you around like a little doll, but you shook your head. 'Loki, no,' you said. Even in the deep snows of the Skadi trails you trod on your own. You demanded to be your own person. I should have gone on my knees then to beg your forgiveness for what I had done, for stealing you as I did. But I was too happy to have you by my side, Firebird, and too stubborn to admit I was wrong." The red eyes shimmered, and one tear tipped over the edge to course down his blue cheek. "Will you forgive me?"

Natasha felt her eyes grow huge. She leaned forward and licked the tear from his face. "Loki," she said. There was nothing else for her in that moment.

Hesitantly his cock brushed against her folds, thrust inside so easily it seemed she was made for it. "Natasha. Fuck – fuck! Tell me!"

She gripped his hair, pulled it so hard more tears started at the corners of his eyes. A growl was forced from her throat, and she wanted to savage him with her teeth. "Fuck you!" she shouted. "Fuck you, Loki. Fuck off. Do you hear me? Fuck you!"

Another savage thrust from his pulsing prick hit the sweet, painful spot deep inside. She felt no one had discovered the band of nerves before the tall Jotun king had stolen her and bore her off to the ice tower. Loki yanked her curls just as hard as she pulled on his black mane, and their teeth clinked as they snarled into each other's mouths. "Tell me," he hissed.

She was on the edge of the sheer drop, rearing on the mighty stallion, and the words burst from her, from her chest. It felt as though her heart exploded to shower them with hot blood.

"Loki," Natasha said. "You are my center."

The words were the merest thread of a whisper, but he must have heard. Loki's face convulsed, and he fell back on the bed. His muscled hips pummeled her, fucking up into her as though they were still on the galloping horse while she felt huge spurts of heavy seed burst inside her. Natasha rode him as furiously and violently as she could, spasming around his length again and again until he pulled her down to collapse on top of him. Even then they couldn't stop moving, riding out the last waves of quaking orgasmic rush, moaning into each other's necks.

His body slumped against hers with sudden sleep. Natasha followed him a moment later, and they fell over the huge cliff into black velvet space.


	22. Returning

Loki made certain the return voyage to Asgard was completely different than the trip out. He waited until Natasha boarded and firmly climbed onto the same transport. There was no sign of Svaðilfari, so Loki assumed he had been placed on another longship with the wounded from the last battle.

It was all very satisfactory.

However, AllFather Thor already sat in the main cabin and insisted on going over several reports with them. Loki chafed at the dull task, but under the table Natasha allowed him to weave his fingers through hers, to push his legs against her firm thigh and lean close enough to breathe in her smell of soap and warmth. In front of the entire room he propped his arm along the back of her chair. He wanted everyone to know they were doing the Fucking together. Furthermore, Loki – the runtling, the despised, the butt of Helblindi's malicious bullying for centuries - had managed to capture the attention of the loveliest being ever to appear in Asgard or any other world.

"We came off surprisingly well out of the battle," Thor concluded. He indicated a list written up in one of the glowing air-charts Loki had hacked into on the way to the war. "Several warriors did go down under the Aether, alas. I will make certain their families are given enough gold to keep them comfortable for the rest of their lives."

"And the wounded?" Natasha asked.

"Our healers should take care of most, including the ambassador from Alfheim. I'm certain Svaðilfari will be better soon."

"There's also the captain of the left flank," she pressed. "He lost his arm in the attack from the Aether. I doubt the healers will be able to do anything about that."

Thor's face fell. "Alas, no, other than keep him comfortable."

"Are there health programs? Buddy support? Psych evaluations to make certain suicide isn't an issue?"

Loki exchanged a rare glance of mutual sympathy with Thor. "The Allfather has no idea what any of that means," he explained to her.

"I just want to make certain a soldier who sacrifices his body for the realm is taken care of in the long run." Natasha folded her arms. "I'm not just talking about a medal and a veteran's parade, either. He'll need careful watching to make certain PTSD isn't a factor, not to mention flashbacks and social withdrawal. Of course a phantom limb will plague him for a while – and that involves serious trauma. Believe me, I know all about that."

"I will cure this man." Feeling he was drowning in a lake of her fervor and determination, Loki slid his arm from the back of her seat to face her, mirroring her position.

"What do you mean by that?" she demanded.

Thor flicked the report. "There is no need, Loki. Our healers will make certain the stump is healed. We also have the best prosthetics…"

"I don't mean stumps or false legs. I will restore the actual limb."

Silence greeted Loki's statement. Finally Natasha unfolded her arms, leaned forward, and put one hand on his face. "Can you do that?"

"Yes. There was a flesh regeneration runic equation in the chest of scrolls I brought with us." Loki saw the flash of admiration in her eyes and felt heat pool at his groin. If the act brought Natasha to his bed once more, it would be worth it. "Also, I could temper the man's mental state and make certain he accepts the incident as a past event instead of one he relives each night in his dreams." He knew something of that – the sight of Laufey falling at Helblindi's hands was something that troubled his sleep unless Natasha lay curled next to him. When she was there he was able to rest undisturbed by black nightmares

"Flesh regeneration runic equation," she repeated, and her lips curled up slightly. "Are you learning magic without me, Your Majesty?"

That brought a smile to his face, but there was more to come. In full view of the Allfather Natasha wound one fist in Loki's shirt, pulled him close and slotted her mouth to his. He had stolen her, had talked and cajoled his way into her bed, had reasoned with her until she surrendered. Having the sweet violence that was Natasha take him in hand in full view of the ruler of the Nine Realms made him tremble with pleasure and fear – fear that somehow she would run again. Loki knew there was no coming back from his obsession with her.

"The Jotun King and I are going to go and do more research on this, Thor," Natasha announced. Her clutch on Loki's collar tightened and she pulled him out of the carved, wooden seat. He came willingly, ignoring the Allfather's frown. Obviously Thor wanted to go over more battle releases, but Loki didn't care if the great Odin himself came back to life, marched in, and demanded an audience.

Natasha pulled him down a small hall of the flying longship to a side room, a sort of closet lined with shelves that held huge jugs of wine. She pushed the door shut behind them with her boot and pulled Loki into another long kiss. In his arms she felt impossibly tiny, a mite that burnt all the brighter for being so small. Her tongue licking into his mouth created bright sparks shuddering down his spine, made his bones turn to ash. Loki couldn't help a whimper of protest when Natasha broke the kiss and regarded him, head tipped back and eyelids half-shuttered over the green-blue of her eyes. "This is too easy," she whispered.

"What do you mean by that, little bird?"

"It's too good. Too – too simple. We're moving like a wave, a comet, an avalanche."

With those words, Natasha revealed something he had never expected.  _She also knew what it was to cling to existence with teeth and fingernails._ His firebird was a fighter, he already knew that, but she was a survivor as well. "You've had to fight for everything your entire life," she added. "Probably it's a miracle you're here at all."

Loki cupped her chin and rubbed his thumbs over her cheeks. He knew his face was filled with pleading, with far more than mere lust. "I think it is the same for you," he breathed.

Her head tipped again, and Natasha's strong arms pulled him into the embrace. A whisper it was, the mere brush of mouth against open mouth as though what lay between them was too lovely and fragile for words. Since there was no way to say it, they had to turn to the age-old device of fingers buried in glorious curls, clothes ripped off chest and thighs, the nearly excruciating pleasure of damp heat and throbbing cock, slanting mouths and sex together.

* * *

"She's in your bed." Svaðilfari stated it as a fact, and Loki didn't bother to hold back his triumph when he lifted his chin to admit he and Natasha were, indeed, lovers once more. At that very moment Natasha sat with the Lady Sif going over schedules and lists for the future of Asgard, but Loki was determined to find her later and experience more rapturous orgasms inside her.

Svaðilfari leaned back against a welter of pillows and looked out of the window. The light there glowed faintly orange, entirely reminiscent of the golden city. Loki mused on the difference between his and Thor's realms, and with a slight shock he realized he could love Asgard nearly as much as his own kingdom.

"Have you told her?" Svaðilfari's question scattered his thoughts.

"There is nothing to tell." Loki eyed the elf sidelong, but Svaðilfari made an impatient gesture.

"Yes, there is. She will discover it soon enough even if you try to hide it."

Loki jumped to his feet. "Are you planning to whisper it in her ear? Destroy our new-found happiness with your filthy gossip and rumors?"

"No. Sit down."

Warily Loki took his seat. "Of course I will let her know the truth, but in the proper way – in my own time."

"Take great care, in that case." Svaðilfari turned to gaze at him, and his long hair swished against the fine linen. "I do not say this as a threat, or even a warning. The truth is I admire you, and not only because you saved my life."

The timepiece by the bed whirred, making Loki jump slightly. "How did you know?" he whispered.

"As I know everything – from the horses. When I was a youth and despised for being an outcast, the stables were my refuge. You might understand that. Later when I could outride the other warriors and archers, I was revered for my ability to communicate with the mounts." The pale-haired man held Loki's stare in a sky-tumbling gaze. "My stallion tell me you have the ability to become a worthy person, but you will stop at nothing to acquire what you wish."

Perhaps it was time to end the conversation. Loki prepared to leave the elf to his own thoughts and designs, probably centering around Alfheim's war gifts and the Aether. Svaðilfari was entirely too beautiful to hate outright, a discovery Loki found unsettling.

He nodded curtly at the elf, strode to the door, and went to find Natasha. Instead he bumped into Amora just as the enchantress exited a vast room lined with books and impossibly lovely paintings. Loki apologized automatically as he picked up a volume she had dropped. "Skirnismal?" He pointed to the title, emblazoned on the spine.

Amora snatched the volume from his fingers. "None of your concern," she began.

He allowed a sarcastic smile to curl his lips. "The bards of Asgard had no idea how to write love poems," he drawled. "It's the closest thing to romance they have – forcing a Jotun giantess to come to the bed of an Aesir against her will."

She flicked her eyes over him and tossed the book at his chest. Only his lightning reflexes allowed him to catch it. "Perhaps  _you_  should take it," she retorted. "Freyr used bribery and threats to win the woman he desired – much more your sort of thing than mine."

Loki was curious, despite the irony in her voice. "Why did you seek the tale, then?"

The enchantress was beautiful and powerful. He had watched her in action as they fought the dwarves together. Amora's use of magic was elegant and controlled, where he felt power course through his limbs she carefully knit her runes to gain her ends. Together they had been an unstoppable force in battle.

A hint of desperation came into her eyes. "Perhaps I am just as helpless as you are when it comes to the art of love." The beautiful enchantress ignored his raised eyebrows and stalked away in a rush of black and green silk.

* * *

Loki managed to find Natasha as soon as she left Sif's chambers. When she emerged in the dark passage he stepped out of the shadow of a column and advanced, filling his vision with her bloody curls and skin pale as that of a young virgin. She gave him a sharp glance, but there was heat in it – enough to curl his stomach and send Loki's blood flying to his prick. "You're such a stalker," she said. "How long have you been waiting for me?"

"I visited Svaðilfari," he gasped into her neck. "Spoke with Amora. Meeting you here is entirely a coincidence…"

"Mm. How lucky for you. Will your clothes end up on the floor of my bedchamber just as coincidentally?"

He was already backing her into the shadowed alcove where he had lain in wait. Some dark part of his mind was ticking, telling him to grab as much as he could before … before…

"No." Natasha twisted out of his embrace. "Let's go and do some research on the flesh regeneration thing first and visit the soldier you promised to cure. Then and only then will you get your reward."

"Of course." Loki made his voice silky, his lips just far enough away so the sound would reverberate at the bottom of her spine. Those low notes would make her lungs expand, shoulders jerk back, nipples engorge, her cunny slick with delicious fluid. "We shall wait until then to explore each other's mouths, to taste breath and blood, to take your sharpest knife so you may carve your initials on some hidden part of me and no one else can see it."

Joy flickered through him when she became very still at those words. "D'you want me to do that?"

"I was too quick before," Loki persisted. "I bore you off to my kingdom without even a word between us or negotiations of bed-price. Perhaps you need to punish me, to make me suffer for those wrongs. You should know I brought the neck-chain and ankle cuffs from the ice tower, little bird – the ones I made you put on in Jotunheim. Tonight you can lock them on me in my turn."

His firebird was strong, so very strong when she pushed him to arms' length. Proud and upright she stood, holding his gaze firmly with her own. Still, Loki already knew her so well he could feel the electric shudder course through her at the thought of what she could do to him with the heavy iron instruments of desire he offered up.

In that moment he knew he had her.


	23. Phantom Limb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Jotun!Loki continue their relationship, although he seems to be hiding something.
> 
> (I remember now why I didn't post this for so long: because it broke my heart to write it.)

"The runic equation courses through the man's body." Loki pointed to the chart hovering in midair. The Aesir had different physiognomy from humans, Natasha mused, but she could still see it represented the cardiovascular system. After all, blood was blood no matter where you went. "His flesh must accept what we create as his own, or it will slough off the new limb."

" _We_  create?"

Loki raised one eyebrow and measured her with a long, slow gaze. "You will help me in this, little bird."

She hid a smile. "Okay. Tell me what to do."

In answer, he held out a scroll. Natasha couldn't stifle her grin any longer. Eir, the healer, might be surprised at the tactics she and the king of Jotunheim were about to use in those stately rooms. Instantly his face dimpled with answering humor – they both knew what followed.

"Will the man feel any pain?"

Loki got behind and pulled her close to stand flush against him. "He swings between life and death, not feeling anything for the moment. Tell me, are you ready?"

Natasha nodded. "Oh, yeah."

The soldier they were about to work on was young. She could tell by his skin, soft and damp with sweat, as well as the amount and length of the man's blond hair. He lay with his eyes closed, the folds of a simple linen shift lapping his neck. Only the red, puckered bandages wound over his severed arm showed something was wrong with the boy.  _Probably a farmer when Asgard wasn't at war,_  she thought.

"It will be a long procedure," Loki whispered into her neck. "We will need to weave a long series of runic equations through his bones, blood, and flesh to make the body reform and remember the limb."

"Will it just grow in front of our eyes?"

His answer was a sort of gasping laugh. "I'm quite interested to find the answer to that myself. Once we start we cannot stop - you must be ready." When she bumped his side, he added, "In that case open the scroll, little one, while I remove his wrappings."

He was right about the procedure. Once she found the spells, Natasha knew them at once. It wasn't a section of text but a winding spiral of runes and words that seemed to tear right from her vitals as Loki caught and spoke them. Skirls of magic spun through the air to the waiting body of the boy soldier while a thread of light snaked over his head, neck, chest, hips, and legs. The shimmer glowed over one arm and his stump. And yet the light found it, outlining the new limb to recreate it from the one stolen in battle.

Behind her Loki whimpered, a little keyhole of sound. She was able to peer through it like spying at a door and see his need, growing with the light and magic. His want. His desire, entangling with her lust, her – oh. Yes, that.

There was also the seed of a plan. Loki had the days mapped out, weeks spent in Jotunheim to deal with rule at the ice tower, interspersed with visits to New York so she could do her job. With the speed of a supercomputer he was planning for contingencies of all types. The years ahead were drawn in vivid color – a lovely web of vivid, alien blue.

She saw it all as they pressed together physically and mentally, bound by the magic they created to heal the boy. It would be the age of Loki and Natasha. He would make sure it happened.

Dimly she knew something was missing from that elaborate plan, but before she could figure it out the complicated runes knitted in a new form. The magic was giving birth to itself within the soldier's physique and elsewhere…

The orgasm uncurled along her spine before she even knew it was happening. Sparks sizzled inside her, creaming and burrowing along each line of nerve.

"I haven't really touched you yet," Loki murmured into her neck. "Just wait until we lie together."

"No." Natasha felt a frisson of amusement, of something that some people might call happiness. "We won't be lying together tonight."

"No? But can you resist this?" His hand flattened against her belly, his blue skin turning to pale snow-flesh. "Would you like me as an Aesir? As a Jotun? I could do it in each form. Whatever you like. Taste you, mark you as mine, lift you against the wall and do it until the night expires and becomes day."

"No," she repeated. "You're wearing the collar and cuffs you brought with you tonight, and we are doing this my way."

* * *

It was already midnight when they left the boy to sleep. The magic had sunk into his skin, Loki declared, and there was nothing to do but let him rest. They would return in the morning to see how he fared.

"And now," he growled.

Natasha fisted his shirt and dragged him out of the healers' wing. They passed Eir who asked a question about the patient. "He's fine," Natasha yelled back without breaking stride.

She didn't stop to talk to anyone, not even when Sif came out from behind or doorway. The need grew until it felt like her skin was stitched loosely and the tiniest wrong move would make her break apart. When they reached Loki's chambers she kicked the door open, gestured for the servant to leave, and slung him into the room. He expelled a long sigh, expelled a few words in his language.

It was impossible to wait any longer. "Get the cuffs," Natasha ordered.

Loki gestured with his head to the huge bed waiting on a dais. The heat in her stomach flared when she saw somehow he had rigged up a series of chains overhead from the posts holding up the embroidered canopy. "Are you going to let me do this?" she asked.

"You may do whatever you like to me."

"Fuck." Natasha pulled him in for a long kiss, painting his mouth with her tongue in luxurious strokes. As soon as they broke apart Loki fished under the bed with his boot and drew out a flat chest. "Put them on," she said.

"Very well. But undress me first."

She knelt and opened his breeches, and the purpled erection fell into her hand. Loki's arms hung slack at his side, and he watched her with hooded eyes, his chest heaving. "So hard for you," he said.

"Mmm." Natasha stood and, with a sudden effort, ripped off his shirt. "Now, put them on. Don't make me say it again."

A moan broke from his throat. Loki knelt and clamped the cuffs around his ankles, his wrists. The large band for his waist was tight, but he managed to make it fit.

The final one went around his neck.

He stood when she gestured, a perfect servant to their desires. Natasha rose and let her gaze travel over his blue figure. Loki's heavy phallus hung to the left, bobbing against his hip. "Look at you," she said. "Look at you."

In answer Loki felt inside the case and produced another length of chain. He nodded when Natasha raised one brow, and she looped it inside one cuff, threw it over the canopy restraint, and locked it inside the other. There was enough slack for him to move on the bed, to lie down.

"Yours," Loki said. "All yours. Now, it is your time to tell  _me_  what to do."

She gave herself a moment to look at him, naked except for the iron bands, and ran her thumb inside the belt around his waist. "Tight?" He nodded, and she pushed him into a sitting position on the end of the bed to straddle his hips and rub her face against the smooth, blue skin of his neck. With her other hand she pulled on the collar so it pushed the flesh up just enough to hear his hiss of surrender. "Would you like me to constrain you further? I know how to do it – breath play. Just a little, so when i allow you to suck in air it's like an orgasm."

"I'm yours," he repeated. "You own me – and my breath."

"I own your breath." Natasha liked that. "All right then. Say my name if it gets too much, or tap my arm twice and I'll stop. But I'm a pro, or I wouldn't suggest this."

Loki whimpered again and pushed into her neck, her breasts. It seemed he was trying to hold onto himself so he wouldn't fall over the edge of the precipice they always skirted. Yes, he was like her – continually ready for the heart-pounding excitement of danger.

Natasha tested the chains, settled Loki back on the bed so he lay with his weight pulled on his wrists. Then, with the slim bands of moonlight creating double shadows on the floor, she proceeded to take him apart. A pull on the waist and the neck, alternating to give him half-breaths. Bringing him to the verge and allowing him air in small gulps. Full throttle hold when she climbed on top to settle herself  _– gods how did she get so wet_  – onto his dick and let the head in. Letting him breathe as she climbed off so he could suck and lick the drips on her thighs. The links of silver were heated by that point, points of fire against her skin.

And the final moment, strangling him until the height of his throes, so air and release came at the same time. Loki released so violently his back was bowed up, and she rode him out with each tremor, each spasm.  _Mine,_  she thought.  _Mine._

* * *

When the beat of his strange heart settled, Natasha loosened the chains enough so she could lie on his chest. At once he wound his arms and one leg around her, the cuffs pressing painfully into her muscles. She relished the sensation of heavy iron against her joints – it meant she was alive, in the moment.

"Hey." Natasha spoke softly, a mere fuzz of sound. "You okay?"

"Okay," Loki repeated. "This means well, fine, unhurt, not troubled."

A laughed snicked out of her throat. "Yeah. You feeling any of those things?"

"No." He twisted to lie on top of her, pressing against each limb with the chains and metal. One link slipped between the folds of Natasha's sex, and she gasped up into it. "I am burning within, trembling for you. Undone. I told you my life changed, but you don't understand how complete a transformation has occurred – no, I am not talking about the throne. Natasha, I was alone. By myself, hating what I was. And now…" He dipped his face into her hair, drew in a deep breath.

"I'll admit, I  _am_  pretty handy in the sack." It was time to talk him down from the ledge. Natasha was used to seeing a mark fall to pieces when she gave out something special, but Loki's fervor surprised her.

"Ah, don't. Not to me, little one." His hand cupped her cheek, and those cool lips bent to hers, prised them apart, found her tongue and teeth. At that the shadows and moonlight grew all shuddery, as though she couldn't depend on reality to stabilize any longer. "You will need to return to your realm." His voice was solemn, jerking a bit as he sat up and unlocked the cuffs to put them back the chest. "I will come for you in four months, and you will show me your world."

"Four months, huh?" Natasha nodded. She could use the time off to get herself together. Probably more therapy with Dr. Nnamani would be a good idea. The thought of Clint seared her, and she realized how much she missed her friend. "That sounds good."

Loki slammed the chest shut and knelt in front of her with one broad palm on each knee. "Ah, you are perfect."

Like a shot she scooted away from him and curled herself into a ball. "Hardly."

"No, I don't mean that. You are broken, but so am I, and together…" Loki laced his fingers and held them up.

Natasha nodded. It was true – for some reason she and the Jotun just fit together. Still, even then her upbringing wouldn't let her admit it. "You could do this with Angrboda," she pressed.

He pulled her wrist so she fell into his lap, cradled in arms corded with muscle. "She is a good queen," he whispered. "But this does not interest her. She likes you, you know."

The pulse on his neck flickered, and Natasha caught the tiny pump with the tip of her tongue. "I like her as well. She seemed interested in farming, creating more crops on Jotunheim and varieties of food."

"Ah, well yes. She would be interested …" Loki stopped and seemed to catch himself.

Natasha felt her spine freeze. Slowly she pushed away from him to look into the red eyes, and with a distinct click everything fell into place.  _Four months. Angrboda's interests._  And the missing link, cold and hot as the chains she had wound around Loki's limbs earlier – the one thing that any royal dynasty would hold above all others.

"She's pregnant. Right? Isn't she? Do  _not_  lie to me."

Loki had frozen in place as well, and she could almost feel the coils of regret at his error of admission. "It doesn't …"

"Matter? It doesn't matter? Please tell me you weren't about to say that."

"She doesn't want what you and I have together. Now that the line is established she is done with me."

Natasha hauled back and slapped the blue skin with a loud crack. Loki's head snapped to the left. There was a pause before she scrambled to her feet, feeling for her clothes with shaking hands. In a rush he rose and felt for her, tried to imprison her against his chest. "You said I was your center," he murmured. "We don't need marriage, do we? We are bound too deeply for that."

"Not the point." She jerked her head and arms through the ridiculous Aesir gown and picked up her shoes. "Your pregnant wife is on another realm while you're fucking me here in Asgard. She could be sick, in pain, calling for you right now. I'm thinking of  _her,_  asshole, not our little affair. You fucking idiot! And you lied to me. There's that. Why would I ever listen to you again?"

"I never told you an untruth."

"By omission, which is just as bad…"

She shoved him away and stepped to the door, but somehow Loki got there first. His chest heaved, nostrils flared as though she still held his neck and owned his breath. "Wait. Please. No no no no no no. Don't go, little bird. What of our promises?"

"You just put an end to all that. We're done. And don't send your fucking ravens to find me on Midgard or I'll shoot them with an M-16." She managed to get the door open and push through to the hallway.

"Natasha!" Loki extended his empty hands. Even then she felt a sort of horrified pity – the King of Jotunheim held himself as though he had just gone through amputation and was experiencing a phantom limb. He seemed to cast for words, an offering, before realizing he had nothing. "Firebird. Let me be inside you." It was probably the only thing he had left to give.

Natasha tilted her head back and howled with rage at the arches of Asgard, the gold and brass that had stood for centuries and seen all manner of emotions. With her gown undone and the shoes in her hand, she whirled away and ran as quickly as she could, desperately afraid she would stop and return to fling herself back into Loki's arms.


	24. A Desperate Search for Oblivion

Natasha had experienced tailspin twice. The sensation of plummeting to earth with no way to pull out of the fall left her tingling for days afterwards, thrilled by the impossible danger. Later she admitted to Clint being in freefall was a release after so many ops with complete control over every little detail - the way she looked, moved, spoke and even thought layered over the separate mind track of monitoring enemy movement and dirty program hacks.

The return from Asgard was a different kind of fall. Natasha stopped sleeping and eating once she and Liho were settled back in Manhattan. She picked up as many jobs as possible and, when SHIELD had nothing for her, she took some sketchy assignments from other undercover units. It wasn't quite Craigslist but pretty damn close.

When her bank balance was back in the black, Natasha ran from Clint's hangdog expression to the loud, booming embrace of all-night clubs. She drank and hooked up, sometimes with men, sometimes women, sometimes both at once. It didn't matter. Anything other than the rusty razor wire in her gut from Loki's deception was welcome.

She had just made the decision to head out with one hipster from a sex club in Tribeca when his phone vibrated. With a sneer the man (pony-tailed, thick rimmed glasses, pouting lips, beautiful teeth) shut it off, but not before she could see the words:  _In labor._

"You ready to take this somewhere private?" he asked.

Her drink was at her elbow, a tall Moscow Mule. Natasha slung it in his face, picked up her coat, and headed for the door.

The club was built in a long brick building, a refurbished storefront from the 1800's. The bar was at the back, so she had to make her way across a crowded dance floor to get to the street. It meant she had to negotiate her way past kissing couples, women giving her the eye, men trying to stop her for a drink or a dance. Natasha shook them off and thought about finding the rear of the building, escaping out to the alley out back, except it would mean having to confront that asshole again…

Just as she was about to give it up, Natasha saw something that made her heart stutter and fingers curl into a fist. Two beings, so beautiful they had to be gods or at least travelers from another realm, stood next to each other in the club.

Amora and Svaðilfari.

They glowed as though they had swallowed fire, their hair waving slightly under the large ceiling fan. Already there was a ring of horndogs around them of both sexes, waving drinks and iPhones for pictures and hookups. Svaðilfari frowned with puzzlement, and Amora was amused.

No, she seemed desperate. Natasha recognized that look all too well, the search for something – anything – to take up her attention so she wouldn't think anymore.

"Are you models?" one guy asked. "Because I'm a photographer, and I'd love to sign you to my list."

"After-party at C3Brio's," a girl offered.

Natasha had seen enough. She barreled through the crowd and grabbed Svaðilfari's arm. "What are you doing here?" she hissed. "How did you find me?"

"You're assuming we're here for you," Amora said. A moment later she slid her arms around Natasha's neck and gave her a deep kiss. Her taste was delicious, like crisp apples with a musky undertone that was pure Amora. "And you're right – of course we are."

Svaðilfari lifted his chin. The crowd around them was growing thicker and more interested, fuelled by Amora's embrace. "Let us leave this place," he said with disdain. "It smells of sweat and old wine."

"Yeah, if you mean spilled jello shots." Natasha led the way to the street and whistled for a cab. "Uh, we can go back to my place, I guess." As they climbed into the back seat, she tried to imagine the luminous enchantress and tall elf-lord in her flat and failed. "I think I have some leftover pizza."

Svaðilfari spoke close to her ear. "Is there a place we can go with a lot of trees and plants? I can summon a way to my world from there, but we must be surrounded by living things." Before anyone could answer, he continued, "Alfheim would offer serenity and refuge for you both, better than the pit we just left. It is plain you are both in need."

Amora sat on Natasha's other side, fingers entwined with hers. The enchantress was her usual flirtatious self, but she seemed to have a new edge, a brittle layer she couldn't hide.  _Is this how I come off when Clint sees me?_  Natasha wondered. The thought was depressing.

"Central Park isn't the best place to go this time of night," the cab driver said in a bored voice.

A flicker of interest bore through Natasha's frozen mind. "There are the Botanical Gardens in the Bronx," she said. "But of course they're closed, although I could break in..."

Svaðilfari looked down at her and winked. Amora nudged her elbow. Natasha gave the directions to the cab driver before leaning back between the two alien beings. For a moment she had almost forgotten who she was with.

* * *

Life had coalesced to one stripe of reality – the carpet in front of his bed. Loki saw discarded clothes, a spilled glass of wine, dappled light move like scythes over the nap of the rug. Several times feet shod in thick leather stepped into his vision. He shouted to whoever it was to get out, to leave him be.

The shoes disappeared, and his vision-stripe wavered, flowed away in little rivulets of misery. A realm away his wife waited, secure in the knowledge he would come and help her when it was her time. In another realm the woman he loved existed, and what she was doing was entirely hidden from him. Maybe Natasha worked to forget him entirely. Probably she had another lover… but at that thought he groaned and felt for his knife. If he moved quickly, he could plunge it into one of his hearts and stop the pain.

Instead his hand encountered a broad arm, one ringed with armor. "You've spilt wine on the palace floors already – I won't have you adding your blood as well."

Loki looked up for the first time in days. Thor stood by the side of the bed, his brows raised in gentle inquiry. "Get out," Loki said, but he was too tired to give the words the full range of despair and hatred he felt.

Instead of listening, Thor sat on the bed. "Once I chased after the Lady Sif." He spoke as though he was talking to himself, murmuring softly. "It came as a terrible blow she wanted a different sort altogether. Still, later I met my true love, Lady Jane. Her wit and humor won my heart, and now I view Sif as a treasured friend."

"Your little tale hardly improves my mood," Loki snapped. "You won your Midgardian, and I lost mine."

"It wasn't the point." Thor reached out and kneaded the Jotun's shoulder. "I only meant things may seem terrible, but they do have a way of working themselves out in the end." He held out a glass of wine and a plate of bread with soft, veined cheese. "Please don't throw this one on the floor. The carpet will be beyond salvage."

Loki flopped back on the pillows, too weak to hold the goblet. Thor cupped his head with one large palm to give him a few sips, and he struggled a bit. It was for show, really. In truth Thor's weight on the bed was a comfort, a flicker of something Loki thought lost forever.

He ate a few morsels of cheese Thor held out to him and turned his face to the window. If Natasha was there they could have gone riding, found a forest clearing, made love there in the spring breeze. The chopped off lines of his new reality wavered again, and Loki hated Thor for stilling his arm before the knife entered his chest.

However, when the warm bulk of the Allfather rose from the mattress, Loki turned quickly. "Don't go." The words were forced from his mouth – he was simply unable to keep them inside. Never had he felt more alone, and Thor offered a blunt, earthy type of comfort that might keep Loki from losing his mind for a few hours at least.

* * *

The conservatory was home to nothing more than the silent plants and a host of shadows. Amora summoned a little bubble of light, and she held it overhead as the three of them walked down the aisle bisecting the beautiful building. Potted trees and trails of ivy lined the windows, making the place seem like a green submarine, one that breathed and rustled in the air from the large fans overhead.

"Not bad," Svaðilfari commented.

"It's one of the largest gardens in the country," Natasha said.

He smiled down at her, his silver hair glinting under the moonlight from the glass overhead. "You will soon understand why this amuses me."

Even a few months ago she would have laughed with him in an automatic attempt to ensnare the Alfheim ambassador and win his trust. After the vortex of the Loki affair Natasha felt she had been wrung out, left eviscerated on a slab. It was maudlin, overly dramatic – and yet there was nothing left inside. With a sluggish flicker she understood the Jotnar search for a center. She was hollow at that moment, spinning around a vacuum of nothingness.

Calmly Svaðilfari led them to the end of the building. There were bushes and more trees there, and he led them over the barrier that kept the visitors back, holding out his hands to help Amora and Natasha step off the path. He raised one arm, gestured at the leaves, and tilted his head as the branches swung apart at the elf's command.

Within there was a little pathway, a dark road with little points of lights at the far end. Natasha brought up a mental image of the conservatory. Beyond the trees should have been a glass wall looking over the long lawns of the botanical gardens. So the little road was an impossible path, a magical image the elf must have conjured.

It was hardly the strangest thing she had seen lately. She and Amora linked arms with Svaðilfari and stepped into the magical passage. Leaves closed behind them with a whisper. Gentle lights lit their faces, giving the ambassador and enchantress a soft glow. The ground felt like velvet underfoot but probably was moss, spongy under the high heels of Natasha's boots.

She had no idea how long they walked. A host of questions came to mind:  _Where are we going? How did you make a secret tunnel appear? What the hell is happening?_  but she was too apathetic to even care. The silence and mystery of the little place suited her mood, and even the voluble Amora was quiet. Svaðilfari still smiled as though he was approaching a long-awaited end, something he knew would happen and had won with great patience.

The green tunnel ended in another flurry of leaves. Svaðilfari drew them back and gestured to Amora and Natasha to step outside into a massive clearing.

There two moons circled overhead, frosting the scene with impassive, ageless majesty. The three emerged into a stone pavilion flanked by thick forest and several long flights of stairs, each descending from where they stood to disappear into different parts of the woods.

Svaðilfari turned to Natasha. "This is Alfheim," he said. "Welcome to my realm."

* * *

She quickly discovered why he had been amused at the span of the gardens in the Bronx. Alfheim was an immense carpet of trees, lawns, stone stairs, bridges… all were laid out in braided majesty, an endless chessboard of ancient beauty. Even Asgard seemed young compared to the huge scope of Svaðilfari's realm, beautiful under growing lichen and trembling ferns.

"We will go to my dwelling," Svaðilfari announced. "There you can rest." He beckoned for them to follow, and in silence Natasha and Amora walked behind him. He seemed taller in Alfheim, head flung back so the silver hair cascaded down his back. In the light of the two moons overhead he was pale as a statue and lovely as a young girl. His broad shoulders and long legs, however, were thoroughly male.

Natasha had no idea how long they walked. Time seemed suspended there, frozen by great age and endless patience. At last she asked, "How do you negotiate such a huge place day-to-day? Not that I'm complaining."

"Horses, of course. They are different here – you will see when you are ready. Come." He extended one arm towards a huge tree with a staircase carved right into the trunk. "There are bedrooms for you both, here within my house."

House wasn't the right word. Lying on a slender dais covered with what felt like silk and pure linen, Natasha looked up at the beams overhead. The room Svaðilfari had shown her was a sort of bubble suspended from one of the limbs of the massive tree. Each room was its own entity, connected by the branches. It gave the feeling of separation and inclusion, both at once.

Everything inside the room was curved to fit the walls: window seat, shelves of old volumes, the bed where she lay trying to ignore the silence. Once Svaðilfari left her to sleep with a chaste kiss on her cheek, cold despair came back with a vengeance.

Obviously, she wasn't the only one. The shutters covering the window shot open to reveal Amora, her face flushed with success. Natasha got up on her elbows. "How did you sneak in here? I can hear a mouse move two European countries away."

"Magic, of course." Amora got into bed with Natasha and slid her arms around the spy's neck. "Feeling lonely?"

"I'm fine." As much as she liked Amora, Natasha didn't want to get into it.

" _I_  was lonely." Amora turned so her breasts pressed against Natasha's shoulder. "We need comforting, and those idiots pawing at you in the tavern we rescued you from won't do it. You deserve much better." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You deserve me."

Natasha sat up so quickly the coverlet slipped off the bed. She turned to face Amora who, in the light of the moons coming in through the window, had never appeared more lovely. Long golden curls waved over her arms, and her appearance of fragility seemed to hide great strength. Natasha could sense it, the steely intelligence behind Amora's fluffy, flirtatious exterior.

She reached out to tuck one curl behind Amora's ear. "You're very tempting," Natasha admitted. "I'd bang you faster than a screen door in a hurricane if it weren't for Sif. I really like her, you know."

Amora's carefully studied exterior slipped and she dropped back on the pillows. "I know." Her voice pierced Natasha's heart with its sadness. "I know. I like her as well – and love her. And want her, except I can't seem to force myself to settle for just one being in the Nine Realms."

"Yeah." Cautiously Natasha relaxed against Amora's side. They wouldn't make love, but at least she and the enchantress could hold on and lick each other's wounds, just for a night. "Yeah, I hear you."

The shutter to the window was still open, but the enchantress warmed Natasha's limbs, made her feel drowsy. Slowly their breathing slowed. Did something flutter to the window ledge, look inside the curved room? Sleep arrived before Natasha could investigate.


	25. Brothers

Being the All-Father was both a glory and a burden. Thor spent his days sublimating many of his urges – the desire to eat, to drink, to laugh with a friend. His duties always took precedence. Even those precious moments with his lady were counted like drops in a glass. As a result he had learned to be patient, but the lesson had been terribly difficult. In many ways he was still learning.

Raised as the golden son of Asgard, Thor was used to privilege. Every whim he had was granted, no matter what it was. Even his transgressions – usually born of the desire for adventure – were pardoned by his father.

A lesser man might have refused to reign in his temperament and passions, but Thor's naturally sunny nature as well as his surging intelligence showed him how he had to change his existence once Odin met his end on the battlefield. Ascension to the throne of Asgard forced him to reign in his playful side and grow up quickly.

As a result he able to understand Loki's plight and sympathize with the Jotun king. At least, Thor reasoned, he had never been forced into a loveless marriage. If he had to deny his feelings for Jane, the heartache would be terrible - even worse if she left him for fulfilling his duty to produce an heir. To watch his love walk away from him in sorrowful parting – who could bear such a thing?

When Loki scowled and shut himself up inside his massive chamber in the palace, only Thor was allowed inside. The Jotun shouted at anyone else, raging until the maids and valets fled his rooms. However, Thor was able to enter with food and wine.on a tray. He sat on the bed and bullied the king into eating a few shreds of meat. When Loki had eaten he collapsed on the bed, shuttering his face with long fingers. He shook his head and begged Thor to put him to death, to swing the axe and end it all.

The All-Father waited until Loki grew silent, worn out from his paroxysm of emotion. "Suppose the Lady Natasha were still here," Thor murmured. "I wonder what would happen."

With a gasp Loki sat up, eyes rimmed in red. His skin was fully blue, all attempt at playing Aesir abandoned in his grief. "What in Hel's name do you mean by that?"

"If she could see you now, what would her thoughts be, do you suppose?"

Loki snarled and bound to his feet. "The same as always – that I am a cheating scoundrel who cares for nothing but his own desires! It's not as though I've changed. I'm just as chaotic as ever. Isn't it obvious? Not only have I thrown my realm into uproar but yours as well. Tell me, do you have any kitchen maids left, or have I chased them all out?"

Slowly Thor rose, his hands up. He saw it was imperative to keep things calm, or Loki could harm himself. "I see someone quite different from what you describe," he stated. "You are the man who risked his life to save the enchantress Amora and Natasha herself, as well as Svaðilfari. Your own rival, Loki – you gave him his life. And let us not forget the soldier who lost his arm."

"Natasha helped me save the boy," Loki murmured, but he appeared to be listening. "For a large bale of hay I suppose you make some sense."

Thor grinned. Loki amused him with his Jotun gloom and emotional outbursts. The king's intelligence was staggering, although many of the Aesir were prone to ignoring it in light of his Jotnar blue skin. It would be perilous for Thor to do the same, the All-Father mused. Beyond his genuine affection for Loki, it would be vastly profitable to Asgard to stay friendly with him and foster accord between Asgard and Loki's icy realm.

However, honesty compelled him to say one last thing, harsh as it was. "Have you made up your mind about the throne?" he asked.

Loki's head shot up, his eyes fixed on Thor. Lines of exhaustion creased his cheeks and forehead. "What do you mean by that?"

"It seems to me you are torn between being a lover and a king. Listen," Thor added quickly. "Your sojourn here approaches half an orbit. Aren't you worried about your people, your palace?" He paused. "The queen?"

With a curse, Loki sprang off the bed. In a voice shaking with anger he described his dying realm, how Jotunheim had come to life with the Casket of Winters under his reign. "We were nothing but an empty land," he said. "The winds howled around the hollow where the accused were forced to jump, falling forever into the Waste. And I…"

"And you were the same," Thor finished calmly. "You were just as empty, dying – cast out by a race of outcasts themselves. Yet you saved your people and gained the throne." He smiled as Loki gaped at him.

"Yes," the Jotun replied at last. "Natasha changed all of that by helping me gain the casket, when she betrayed me and fled back to Asgard. I lost her and gained glory. The irony is not lost on my, All-Father."

Thor knew if he defended Natasha's actions the discussion would spiral into an argument. Still, the Russian agent was his partner and accepted equal. "She was stolen when just a child, Loki, sold into something worse than slavery. The Red Room had no scruples when they toyed with her mind and body. They injected her with poisons we cannot begin to imagine – foul, antiquated medicine designed to turn her into a killing machine. It was only her fierce intelligence and stubborn nature that allowed her to survive and create a life for herself."

The red eyes never blinked, but Thor could see Loki was processing the new information. After a long moment Thor picked up the flagon of wine and poured them both a glass. He drained it and refilled his cup before Loki spoke again. "She must have felt…a new servitude…pleasant as it was...even with the desire between us...it was never on her terms…" The words appeared to be ripped from the king's vitals.

"I do know this. Agent Romanoff admires honesty and bravery. She is slow to forgive – but she will do so if you work hard enough for her regard. However, as King of Jotunheim your first duty is to your realm. Luckily, patriotism and a steadfast adherence to duty will help her see you always acted out of love." Thor held Loki's furious gaze, refusing to back down.

"She was angry because I left Angrboda - her quarrel with me was never for her own concerns. The Jotnar are less formal about child-bearing than mortals, I suppose. And, by the by, I am a thorough scoundrel - it is wound into my very bones. Do not fool yourself on that issue." Loki picked up the wine and poured it down his throat.

Gently, Thor put his hands on Loki's shoulders. "You are welcome to stay here as long as you wish, but it appears it is time for you to return to your tower." When Loki said nothing, Thor leaned forward and kissed the king full on his lips, laughing when Loki drew back with a curse. "You and I are now brothers, Loki. Natasha may be lost to you, for the moment, but you do have a friend in me and always will."

Loki blinked. With a swift movement he wrapped his arms around Thor's waist where Mjolnir hung, ready to leap to Asgard's defense. Before the All-father could exclaim or move to hug him back, the Jotun broke free. "I'll return to the tower, then."

"Indeed, Asgard will be a quieter but less interesting place without you."

Was it Thor's imagination? The red eyes appeared to soften for a moment. "It – it would please me if you ever decide to visit the icy lands of my kingdom, Thor."

A wave of his hand, and the very stones of the wall shivered, became a door. "The passage," Loki declared. "It was how I first arrived." He strode to the opening and stalked through it without a goodbye or look behind him. His footsteps died away, and the stones shivered back into place. Fascinated, Thor went and touched the wall – it was smooth and hard as always, cold with age. Or was it from the recent pressure of Loki's fingers?

There was a war council after supper. Thor drew in a deep breath, drained the last of the wine, and went to find Sif.


	26. The Pleasures of Alfheim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long hiatus! RL interfered with a vengeance - you don't even want to know.
> 
> Please accept my apologies - AND my assurances I have the next chapter written as well as the final section planned out.
> 
> And thank you, as always, for being wonderful.

Instead of losing herself in the golden bubbles of Alfheim's dwellings, Natasha insisted on the freedom to come and go between New York and Svaðilfari's realm. The elf ambassador listened gravely to her request and nodded. "My steeds desire freedom – if I penned them up in a stable they would knock down the barn or stampede each other. Of course you can return as you wish."

"I'm not your horse, Svaðilfari," Natasha retorted.

"No, of course not." There was an uncharacteristic twinkle in his eye as he turned away, pretending to concentrate on a sheaf of maps he had just unrolled. She didn't smile, but for the first time since the scene in Asgard Natasha felt something melt within her bones. Whether it came from increased freedom or Svaðilfari himself, however, was impossible to tell.

* * *

She returned to weeping weather and an extremely grumpy Liho. "Somehow that cat knows when you're gone," Clint said.

Natasha humphed and went to the kitchen for a bag of dry cat food. "Sneaking into my place, Barton?"

"You gave me the keys, as if I needed them. I'm stealthy like that." Clint winked outrageously at her and knelt to watch Liho eat. The cat turned her back on him and sat, her back and tail rigid with outrage. "You're her human, Nat."

"No way. I'm nobody's human. How did the last case go?" Natasha found a bottle of vodka, a beer for Clint, and a bag of chips. She sat on the couch and peered into the file he opened on his laptop.

They drank as he went over the details. Natasha pointed out several angles no one had considered yet, and he got excited at the thought of winding up the file. "The shittiest pack of criminals I've ever shot at. Seriously, Tasha, they didn't deserve my arrowheads."

She looped one arm through his and leaned back, closing her eyes under the influence of home and alcohol. "No one deserves your arrowheads."

"You do, but I'm not going to shoot your butt just yet." He leaned his head on her shoulder. "How're you making out, kiddo?"

Natasha made her breathing and heartrate reach the correct level of panic at a personal question, exactly what Clint would expect from their long relationship. The effort, if it didn't make him smile, at least erased his worried expression. "I'll get there. Stopped seeing Dr. Nnamani in all the hoopla, which was a mistake. I'm going to go back to her as soon as I can."

Clint's brow cleared, and he stole the last of the chips. They hung out for the rest of the evening, and by the time she went to bed Natasha felt calmer, even relaxed. However, sleep was late in coming, and oblivion brought strange dreams tinged with blue ice and hollow lands.

* * *

With Liho and Hawkeye settled, Natasha headed back to Svaðilfari and Amora. The path through the Botannical Gardens was still open to her, and once the place was closed for the night it was easy to sneak in and steal down the path to Alfheim.

When she arrived in the elves' realm, a silver-saddled horse cropped the long grass at the edge of the forest. Apparently the stallion was waiting for her.

Exclaiming with pleasure, Natasha fitted her boot into the stirrup and mounted. The horse tossed its head, harrumphed, and broke into a gallop. Her last ride had happened in Asgard just before the battle. Svaðilfari and Loki were in the height of their rivalry, the battle was just about to occur, and the young Aesir soldier still had his arm.

In all likelihood Angrboda had just realized she was pregnant.

Natasha forced her thoughts to the most productive channels. The air in Alfheim was cool against her skin, and the light through the leaves looked like green spears of crystal. Amora was probably lying on the bed she shared with Natasha, leafing through books or trying on new armor. At the thought of the enchantress, her golden beauty and imperious manner, Natasha stood in the saddle and urged the stallion to hurry.

However, when she climbed up into the little treehouse, the room was empty. Natasha stood in the doorway and felt blank when she saw its ordered void, hushed with the silence of abandonment.

"Amora returned to Asgard yesterday." Svaðilfari's voice came from behind her, and he inclined his head when she turned to face him. "She told me to give you a thousand kisses – metaphorical, of course."

"Of course," Natasha murmured.

"Forgive me – could we enter?" Svaðilfari grimaced at a cluster of blossoms brushing his cheek. "I'm too tall for this branch."

She waved at her room, an invitation for him to come in. He strode inside, sat on the bed, and thrust out his long legs - one bent, one straight. The continual calm he manifested made it all seem natural, as though the elf were ascending a throne.

"Did Amora give a reason for leaving?" Natasha asked.

"She mentioned the Lady Sif." He smiled at her, displaying perfect teeth. "Apparently she has decided to try and win back her love's heart, no matter the cost."

The warmth in Natasha's bones spread, and she grinned back at him. "Did she? I'm certain she will succeed. Amora may be flighty, but she's intelligent as well. Those golden curls hide a calculating brain – Asgard is lucky to have her."

"However, you miss her." Svaðilfari stated it as a fact.

"I do. We – we had an understanding."

"You clung together in the face of sorrow," he continued.

Her mouth tightened as she tilted her head, considering. "I guess you could put it that way. She was warm at night, and when I had a dream about…when I…" Natasha stopped.

Svaðilfari regarded her gravely. He lifted his arm and beckoned with his fingers, two short gestures to summon her to his side on the pillows and silks where he sat. "Natasha," he said, "it is time. Come to me."

Later she would tell herself it was Amora's fault for leaving. It was Svaðilfari's fault for being so understanding and handsome, both at once. It was Loki's…

No. It was no one's decision but her own.

Her fate firmly in her fists, Natasha lifted her chin and came to him. She sat, not on the mattress, but within the V of his thighs. Svaðilfari's muscles, honed from centuries of riding, were hard under her fingertips as she braced herself to lean forward and cup his chin with her other hand. Up close his skin was fine and soft, edged with the hard maturity of pride. He held himself still, only the widening pupils betraying his desire.

Natasha considered him, his features controlled as though he handled a nervous horse. Svaðilfari had waited for her, perhaps knowing eventually Loki would fuck up badly enough for the elf to have his chance. Perhaps it was wrong to use him as a masturbatory substitute… still, Amora was no longer there, and she couldn't sleep alone at night just yet. Besides, she thought, why not seize the chance for sex? It wasn't as though Svaðilfari hadn't made his own desires plain.

Slowly she bent to kiss him, but with a smooth gesture Svaðilfari turned to nuzzle her throat. She heard him murmur something about beauty and violence, how she captivated his interest right from the start.

* * *

He was an incredible lover, Natasha thought later. Svaðilfari slept at her side, one long arm clasping her back to his chest. He had made love to her enthusiastically and with great invention, moving from underneath her to slot himself between her legs. His strong arms held her against the wall, picked her up and tipped her over the end of the huge bed, positioned her against the windowsill. Quickly he found the most sensitive places on her body – dip of her navel, the hollow of her left hip. Svaðilfari licked and kissed every inch as though she were someone to be worshipped and, when she felt liquid inside from desire, rode her in a fierce gallop.

Her attempts at kissing his lips, however, had been avoided. She signaled her understanding with a nod – in a way it was better to avoid that final intimacy of sharing breath and tongue. Natasha had never needed kisses to complete her.

However, it was difficult not to remember Loki's great enthusiasm when she brushed her lips over his, how quickly his mouth opened to let her in. "More," the Jotun king had begged in his icy chamber, purring like a huge cat as he licked into her.

Natasha never compared lovers. However, Svaðilfari was a vast improvement upon the scores of one-nighters she had picked up after the Loki affair had fallen apart. Those men and women were her attempt to ward off the darkness and forget, if only for a few hours, what he could no longer have. Svaðilfari, on the other hand, urged her to take what she needed. He freely gave his body and extremely satisfactory prick to erase the horrors, to ride towards a rising star.

Under a veil of her eyelashes Natasha regarded him, asleep on her pillow. His face was immobile – no twitches, no gasps indicating dreams or nightmares. He might have been a statue carved from marble. The lips she had not kissed were stern even in sleep, compressed in a firm line. He had his own code, a rigid system of logic. Centuries of existence had taught him to wait, but it was the patience of stone, of cold rock.

* * *

Later he woke and caressed her, long fingers smoothing the curls off her shoulders. "So lovely," he whispered in her neck. "Natasha – you are so lovely."

Svaðilfari was already rigid against her thigh when she turned and slipped into his arms. She caressed his length, pushed back the foreskin to feel the trembling slit. It was a kick to make his proud demeanor crumple with lust, see his eyes crease with longing. His lips drew back, exposing teeth both white and sharp. Svaðilfari nibbled her earlobe, under her chin, the hollow of her throat. As he pulled her astride onto him and tossed his head back with pleasure, she moaned and sank onto him. Oh, he was curved like a scimitar. She could feel each pulse inside as he settled them into a slow rhythm.

"I want to make it last," he smiled. "It was a long wait for you."

"Worth it?" she teased.

"Indeed. Oh, Natasha."

He brought her off several times – she lost count. With a shocked cry he crumpled and spent inside her, rearing and bucking. Orgasm was the only time Svaðilfari ever lost control, and it made Natasha shiver with lust.  _Mmm,_  she thought,  _this will do for a while. I can have this._

* * *

He left her hours later. Svaðilfari knelt to say goodbye, touched the back of her hand to his forehead. "It would make me very happy to take you out on horseback under the stars later," he offered. "I will bring wine and cakes, and we can caress each other in a clearing I know, hidden among the trees."

Once she had accepted the invitation, he left. The door swung shut. Natasha was left alone int the green room, round as a bubble underwater.

Alone – no. Something hopped onto the circular window, a small creature. It scrabbled and flapped before balancing on her ledge. With dread in her heart, Natasha went to the shutters and pulled them apart. A bird sat there, its wings crooked. The miserable way it moved made her feel there was something terribly, terribly wrong. "Hey," she said softly. "You okay?"

The bird emitted a hoarse caw and hopped from one leg to the other. She stretched out her fingers. The magpie croaked once more and pitched onto its side. It shivered and grew still, dead within the curve of her hands.


	27. Return to the Ice Tower

When Loki entered Angrboda's room, she was lying on the bed surrounded by several servants of indiscriminate sexes. One lad with a bare chest and hair down to his waist bent over her, feeding the queen berries dipped in syrup. Another held a long tray of wine and cheeses ready.

Angrboda held up her face, and a third boy dabbed her full lips with a spotless cloth. She made a sound of satisfaction and settled back, catching sight of Loki as he waited in the doorway. Instantly she signaled for the servants to leave the room. At the last moment she took the tray of cheese from their hands and deposited it on the bed.

Loki felt a faint grin hover around his mouth as he approached the bed. Kingdoms might come and go, but Angrboda's appetite would never change. They greeted each other in the Jotnar style, clasping forearms and letting the tips of their noses touch briefly.

"Cheese?" The queen held out a slice, pale and aromatic. "We make it in our new dairy downstairs from draugr milk. The result is creamy but sharp in flavor."

He waved it away and stretched out on top of the heavy furs next to her. "New dairy?" he asked.

"Among other things. Farbauti and I have also worked on an underground garden for the winter years. We can grow all kinds of new fruit there, and it is all powered by your Casket. We're farming as well, and in a few months we'll have fresh meat for the Tower."

"Growing seems to be your specialty." Idly he slid his hand over her rounded belly, and she laughed.

"Indeed. Tell me, how was Natasha? Spiky but delicious, as usual?"

Loki dropped his head back on the furs and stared, unseeing, at the ceiling. "Delicious, yes. Spikier than usual."

A quick intake of breath let him know Angrboda divined his meaning. "Loki. Do you mean to say you quarreled with her?" She pillowed her head in one hand and turned on her side, sliding a pillow under her stomach. "What on earth did you say to our darling girl?"

"Oh, it's  _our_ darling girl now?"

"Of course I'm a bit in love with her as well. I should imagine everyone is. And don't try to change the subject – what did you do?"

Loki sat up and turned his back to her. "I'm not going to discuss it."

"So you angered her, that much is obvious." He turned to see Angrboda stare at the ice against the window, her eyes narrowed in thought. She picked up another slice of cheese and bit into it with her sharp, white teeth. "You really can be a little shit, husband. What was it this time? Did you act the jealous fool when her other lovers came around? With someone as beautiful as her, you're simply going to have to learn to share."

Loki covered his ears, squeezed his eyes shut, and doubled over on the mattress. The thought of Natasha lying with another was like a blow to his gut, sharp and painful. He didn't realize he was growling until Angrboda slipped her arms around his neck. "I'll kill them," he vowed. "I'll slit the throat of anyone who looks at her."

"That's silly. You'll end up murdering the entire universe. Just accept what she gives you and be happy. You're incredibly lucky to lay with her at all, you know."

He rose and went blindly to the window. "It's not just that," Loki admitted. "The thing is – I actually didn't tell her you carried our child. She…"

"She guessed, and now she's angry. I see – you've been an even bigger turd than usual," Angrboda said calmly. Loki felt his eyes redden with rage, and he turned with a snarl to his wife. She reclined, her eyes twinkling at him, a mug of wine clasped firmly in one square hand. "Do you want me to speak with your lover, husband?"

Despite his heartache, he couldn't help laughing at that. Angrboda was infinitely comfortable, he suddenly realized. She was a good queen, by all accounts, and there was no one else in Jotunheim he could speak to so honestly. "There's more," he said. "I became friends with All-father Thor in Asgard. He chastised me for thinking too much of Natasha and not enough about my reign here in Jotunheim…"

Angrboda patted the bed, and willingly Loki crossed the room to lie next to her again. "In returning the Casket of Ancient Winters to our realm you became an instant legend," she said. "Its powers make everything Farbauti and I do possible. In truth, there is no limit to what we can achieve. Already your subjects have food in their bellies – a most important item, to be sure!" She slapped her round rump for emphasis, and he laughed again. "Come with me and your mother when the stars rise, Loki. We can visit the yarls and see just how much things have changed for the better in our realm." He didn't answer, and she tilted her head in curiosity. "What is it?"

"In truth, perhaps now I start to see just how well I married."

Angrboda dug one elbow in his ribs and snorted. "Took your time about it. I could have told you that ages ago. Now go away, and I'll come up with a plan to win Natasha back to your bed –  _again_."

* * *

The air was crisp against Loki's cheek, but the ice crystals melted quicker than usual. The spring years were coming, bringing the usual mud and filth as well as the frantic growing season.

_Not as frantic this cycle,_  Loki thought,  _thanks to the queen._  He leaned one elbow on the rim of the sleigh and regarded the small group of villagers clustered by a godspire. Already it seemed the Jotnar knew about Angrboda's improvements and were benefiting from them, and they waved energetically at the royal sleigh. Several of the women were heavily pregnant – the dying race of Jotunheim had begun to swell once more.

Angrboda and Farbauti sat huddled together on the seat opposite, whispering over a long scroll. When Loki peeked at the parchment he saw long lists of livestock and grain storage, impossibly dull facts that made his mind spin with boredom. His wife seemed fascinated by it, however, and her red eyes sparkled as Farbauti produced a pen and scribbled a few words in the wet snow parted sluggishly under the sledge's runners. Soon they would have to use the huge carts, great heavy things that crawled along in the spring mud. At that point Loki would stop going out altogether – the slow pace infuriated him.

The sleigh broke out of the forests, and he saw they were close to the mountains. Catching his breath, he sat up, pounded on the side of the sledge, and demanded to be put down. When Angrboda asked if he wanted her to join him, Loki shook his head. Quickly he strode away from her and his mother, shading his eyes with one hand.

Once he had skied the slopes of that slope with Natasha, and he had realized then just how independent his little mortal was. Natasha was no doll to be carried on his back – she had insisted on walking beside him, strong and free.  _If only…if only…_  Loki didn't even know what to wish for beyond Natasha panting underneath him with parted thighs, trembling as he kissed and plowed into her. Gods, he wanted her more than his own life.

Burdened by his longing, he didn't see the purple shadows creeping over the rocks and snows of the mountaintop. When Farbauti put her hand on his arm, Loki started. He had forgotten the sledge, his wife, and his mother.

"Angrboda is hungry," Farbauti cautioned. "And the wind grows stronger. It is time to return to the Tower."

Loki nodded. It felt like tearing off a limb, to turn away from the little shred of happiness caught among the rocks of the mountain. Still, his wife waited for him, shivering despite her velvet and reindeer fur cloak.

* * *

"King Loki."

Someone spoke his name, and Loki snarled at them. He had been in the middle of a sex dream, a lovely vision where he licked Natasha's cleft until she trembled and pulled him to lie on top of her. "Leave me alone," he shouted.

"Loki, it is the queen." His mother's voice was filled with anxiety – rare enough to yank him out of the seductive fantasy.

"Angrboda?" Loki sat up and held out one hand for his robe.

"Her pains quicken, Loki. It is too early for her and for the child – we must hurry." Farbauti ran to the door, pulled it open, and disappeared into the corridor.

Loki shot after her, his hearts thumping against his ribs. Had he kept the queen out too long in the snow? The trip had been her idea, but perhaps…

Her room was a hive of activity. The nurses held the queen up in a sitting position, and when Loki entered, Angrboda threw back her head and shouted in agony. "Such bullshit!" she yelled. "It's too fucking early – I refuse to lose this child. I refuse!"

"Shh." Loki knelt next to her out of the nurses' way and cupped her cheek with his palm. "We'll get through this, Boda. I swear it."

The pet name slipped out. Loki knew losing a child would be dreadful, but letting Angrboda go would be just as bad. In a way he loved her – she was part of his life, and he had come to depend on his queen. "Do everything you can," he shouted to the nurses.

"The baby's determined to come now," one of them stated. Her calm tone drove him insane, and he wanted to split their skulls.

"Don't murder anyone," Angrboda wheezed. She wound her fingers into his long, black locks and tugged so he had to face her. "I don't suppose you have any magic lying around, husband?"

_Magic!_  He had almost forgotten. With trembling fingers he touched her swollen abdomen and concentrated. Yes, he could sense the life there – warm and abundant. "The baby's heart beats," he declared.

"King Loki." One of the nurses beckoned to him, and although his breath caught at the thought of leaving Angrboda's side, he rose and went to her.

"Well?"

"It is either the children or your wife. You must choose which to save."

Loki rocked back, astounded. "Children?"

"There are two of them. Maybe three."

Multiple births were unheard of in Jotunheim. No wonder the situation was so desperate. "Farbauti!" he shouted.

With a murmured exhortation to stop bellowing, his mother appeared at his side. "My scrolls," he said in a lower tone. "Send someone to fetch them from the onyx box next to the Casket of Winters."

His mother reappeared with the scrolls in the middle of a calming spell. Loki was able to slow both of Angrboda's hearts, although he could sense her lifeforce ebbing. As soon as Farbauti offered the parchment he snatched them, found the section he wanted, and held it up.

The spell glowed in the dim room, and Loki stumbled over the words. He could feel the magic unwind in his body, but he couldn't quite make it extend to Angrboda's skin.

She crooked one finger, and he bent closer to hear her speak, a mere thread of a voice compared to her usually hearty laughter. "You need her," Angrboda whispered. "You know it, and I know it. It's the only way, husband."

_Natasha._  She was the catalyst for his magic. With her by his side Loki knew he could cure Boda and make things come right.

"She'll never…" he began.

"Make her," Boda insisted. "Make her come to us."

Loki nodded. He straightened and requested for a fire to be built in his rooms. It was the first way he had found his firebird, and he knew the flames would lead him to Natasha once more.

As the servant left, he whispered to the nurse to save Angrboda's life, even at the cost of the three souls within her womb.


	28. Balancing the Norns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Amora creates Yggdrasil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the late chapter - again. All I can say is I received several writing prompts in the real world, and they've taken up far too much of my time. If all goes well, there should be one final chapter of this story after this one. Good thing Natasha's there to save the day and 'pick up after you boys', as usual.

Amora strode straight to her rooms to wash off the moss and sap from the forest of Alfheim. With swift strokes she brushed her long, golden curls, twisted them into a braid over one shoulder, and tied a ribbon (an early gift from Sif) around her neck. She changed into a white shirt and black leggings made from the skins of bilgesnipe – the shield-maiden had always admired her in fighting attire.

Not bothering to glance in the mirror, Amora went to find the shieldmaiden. Lady Sif sat in the war council chamber, bent over a long scroll. Amora's heart twisted as she watched Sif bite her lip, pick up a quill, and scratch something out on the paper – a soldier's name, perhaps, or an addition to a list of cannons.

Amora crossed her arms and waited in the doorway. The motion made Sif glance up. Instantly she flung down the pen and thrust back the chair, which clattered onto the red marble tiles. "How long have you watched me?" she demanded.

"I could watch you for eons," Amora admitted, "but as it happens, this time it was only a moment."

Those firm lips parted before Sif seemed to recall herself. "We should not be together here," Sif said in a low tone. "Both of us know how it will end."

Amora darted forward, sank to her knees in front of Sif, and raised both hands. "Be my lady," she said. "I have been foolish, and flighty – altogether  _me_ , in short – but I will not leave here until you promise to be mine." When Sif opened her mouth to speak a wave of desire overcame Amora. She moaned and pulled Sif down on the floor into a hot, sweet kiss. The touch of Sif's tongue on hers made her gasp, and she whispered, "I want everyone to know we are lovers. The Allfather will have to change the laws regarding our marriage."

Sif broke apart from her. "Marriage!"

"You look so young," Amora murmured. "Mighty and wise, and so powerful, but your cheeks are those of a girl, rounded and so soft under my touch. Wed me, Sif, and be mine until our bones crumble together in Valhalla." A red haze seemed to descend over her vision when Sif licked into her mouth, tasted lips and palate. Amora wanted to remove Sif's armor there and then, to bend her over the very council table where treaties had been signed and glories won for Asgard and have every inch of Sif's creamy skin. She wanted breasts, hips, and slender legs wrapped around her waist, locking her against Sif's little mount. She wanted to lick it, to watch it spurt.

With a sob Sif pushed her away, and Amora landed on the marble tiles. "I love your freedom, your joy in everything. I can't – I can't capture you like a singing bird and watch you die in a cage. If only you knew how it kills me to say these words, like a knife sliding between my ribs."

Amora twisted to her feet, leaned against the table, and crossed one booted leg over the other. "I expected you'd say something silly and noble like this, since you're so filled with knighthood and the courtly arts. But make no mistake…" She bent and pushed her head so close to Sif's she could taste the mead on the maiden's breath. "You  _shall_ be mine. I will not rest until it is so."

One fluttering wink, and she left Sif staring after her. Pleased with what she had just accomplished, Amora danced back to her chambers.

She hadn't seen the table of Norn stones since Natasha went missing. Some of the servants had moved it beside Amora's cabinet of curiosities, where she kept objects that had caught her interest in different worlds – shells, feathers, the shrunken head of a king.  _What a bastard he was._  Amora flicked his left eyehole with one careless fingernail. The bone made a dull clunk, and she laughed.

The clothes hanging on hooks in her wardrobe were dusty from disuse after her long sojourn on Alfheim. Amora considered changing into the gown Sif admired the most, but if everything went well there would be no need for clothes at all between their bodies. Her gaze fell on the Norn stones, still lying in complex patterns when she sought the pattern to bring everything into balance. The answer had eluded her that day, and she had lost her temper.

Since then much had happened: her love affair, an end to war, and the desperate parting with Sif. Of course she had traveled to Alfheim with Natasha, but the journey was a mere distraction...

Amora made a noise in her throat and approached the table. In Alfheim the dwellings had been round rooms in trees, all separated but ultimately connected by limbs and leaves. It was a novel way of living, one she had quite enjoyed when she wasn't longing for a prolonged tumble with Sif.

With a distinct click, everything fell into place. Amora saw the Norns could keep their separate entities but tie together. There was a complicated equation for their exact placement on the board, but she could discover it if she worked like a fiend.

Forgetting her closet, the king's skull, and even Sif herself, Amora flung herself down in front of the board. Eyes wide, she counted the stones, created a test pattern in her mind, and saw it would fan out perfectly in a widening fractal spiral resembling the growth patterns of leaves and rings inside a trunk of a mighty oak, thousands of years old.

Yes, at last she knew was what was missing – a tree. It would have to be enormous, but Amora knew physical size meant nothing. What really mattered was power. The branches of the tree would have to support Alfheim, Jotunheim, Helheim, even Asgard itself.

Her fingers flew over the board, adjusting weights and counter-weights. The magnetism and chemistry as well as corresponding magic had to work together… but she could do it. All she could see were the Norns and her expanding creation, branches and leaves to encompass everything.

She didn't know how much time had passed when she finished. Amora staggered back from the table, thirsty and exhausted.

A strong hand caught her arm, helped her to the bed. "Life," Sif whispered in her ear. The shieldmaiden waved at a tray on the sheets and poured a glass of wine for Amora. "You just made life happen. I crept into your room and watched it from the shadows – it was like staring into the face of Valhalla."

Amora sighed, drank, and ate a sliced fig Sif held out for her on an alabaster plate. "It  _is_  wonderful," she agreed. "The best thing I've ever done. It will connect all the realms, and keep them in balance at the same time. There's just one final step…"

Her words stopped as Sif plucked the glass from her fingers and kissed her deeply. Their mouths slotted together as though they had never been apart. "I wage war and death," Sif whispered, "and here you are making your own little universe."

"It's not quite finished yet," Amora insisted. "I'll need to watch the tree over the next few moons, and I could use your sword."

"What will you call it?" Sif held up another fig and teased Amora's lips with the sweet flesh.

Amora bit the fruit and considered. "Maybe we should name it after Thor's father. It would please the Allfather to have his family immortalized."

"Odin?" Sif snorted and drank some wine out of Amora's cup. "Might as well name it after his horse, since the former king spent so much time in the saddle."

She couldn't wait any longer. Although she was exhausted, Amora cupped Sif's face. "I want to spill this wine between your breasts and thighs so I can lick it from this soft skin," she growled. "But there's no time to spare – we have one last step before everything I just created falls apart." Gently she turned Sif's chin so they both faced the table of Norn stones. "Do you see?"

Sif sucked in a breath. The heavy wood vibrated, and the Norn stones picked up the motion. They rose in the air and hung, waiting, for Amora's next move.

"If I can't find the answer, the entire universe will fall apart," Amora declared.

"You will find it," Sif said.

"In truth, I already know what it is." Amora sighed and let her hands fall from Sif's slender waist. "But it involves love, the trickiest move of them all."

* * *

When Svaðilfari called for her, a delicious smile curling his proud lips, Natasha didn't mention the dead bird. The thing was hidden in a small chest behind her bed, and the mere thought of it made her feel as though ants crawled beneath the surface of her skin.

Her lover raised her hands to his cheek, bright blue eyes hidden behind fluttering lids as though he had what he felt. "I spent all afternoon thinking about you," he admitted. "It was difficult to believe we truly lay together, after I have desired you for so long. The memory was enough to bring me to the edge."

Natasha drew him into her room, slid her arms around his neck, and tipped her head back. "It really happened. The ache between my legs is proof."

"Natasha!"

She laughed. Making him lose his icy calm was addictive, and she looked forward to doing so as often as possible. He had proved the depth of his passion again and again, and she wanted to find new layers. "Live a little, Svaðilfari," she taunted. "We only go round once, you know."

"Hm. I plan on three times at least, tonight."

She pushed him away, held him back with one arm. "Did you just make a joke?"

Svaðilfari pulled her back to his chest so swiftly Natasha nearly lost her breath. "I've prepared a place for us in the woods. The horses are ready."

"Okay, Mr. Romance. Lead on."

It was pleasant not to have to think for a while, after all the drama and heartache of the Loki affair. Natasha suspected Alfheim was a stolen interlude, but she had learned to seize pleasure where she found it.

Svaðilfari led her to the waiting chargers, a black and a chestnut, and winked. "Will we race?"

"Are you kidding me right now? I'm not taking on someone who is part horse himself."

"Only the good parts." Svaðilfari stood behind her and buried his face into her neck. She purred and leaned against him.

The elf froze, his entire body going as stiff as granite. One of the horses tore at the ground before rearing up and screaming. Svaðilfari let go of Natasha's hips, went to the horse, and caught the steed's bridle. He spoke a few words she couldn't understand in a low tone and, after a few more plunges, the horse quieted. Natasha saw the chestnut was still uneasy, showing white around its eyes.

"Maybe we should put off the ride," she began.

"Something has changed." Svaðilfari stepped back from the horse and raised his chin. "The realms are in a new alignment – it's a force I've never encountered before. The horses can sense it in the stones under their hooves."

Natasha frowned. She couldn't feel anything, but ever since she had left Loki alone in Asgard, her emotional paralysis had been a permanent condition. Only Svaðilfari's presence in her bed had made her experience something other than crushing black heat inside her skull. "Is it dangerous?"

"The new alignment is not, no. I think we can travel to the other realms more easily now. But there is more." Svaðilfari cupped her chin and looked into her eyes. "A hidden fear, something you keep from me."

She stared back at him. "The birds. They've been following me since I first escaped from Jotunheim."

He sucked in a quick breath. "They say the king of Jotunheim uses ravens as his spies."

Natasha turned away so he wouldn't see her anger. Spies – it was just like Loki to follow her even when he was busy with ruling a country. And other things. "One flew in my window when you left me." Her voice was flat. "It fluttered in my hands and died there."

Svaðilfari's hands were gentle on her neck. "This stabs me to the bone to say, Natasha, but I think you will have to go to Jotunheim. This new alliance along the spheres will help you travel…" His words died out and he spun her so they faced each other next to the stamping horses. "It would please me greatly if you would return to Alfheim."

The promises she meant to give were never spoken as Svaðilfari pulled her tighter and held her against his broad chest as though he never wanted to let her leave. Tucked under his chin, Natasha nodded. "Do we have time for one last fuck?" It couldn't hurt to ask.

"Come back to me very soon." He thrust her away from him and turned towards his horse, bending so his face was hidden in the long, black mane. It was like wrenching off a piece of herself to leave him, to go back to the tiny bubble where they had lain together for the first time.

Natasha gathered the small bundle of things she had stored there, including the body of the raven. She walked out of the room and refused to look back, as her feet found the accustomed path back to the botanical gardens in Brooklyn. It was easier not to confront Svaðilfari. To say goodbye and have to leave him alone with his horses, the man she had ridden like a stallion but never kissed, would make her ache even more inside.


	29. The Key

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter months ago, but my entire writing folder disappeared from my laptop. Perhaps you can imagine my rage. I finally found the time to rewrite it, and I also offer my humble apologies for making you wait for so long.
> 
> There's no excuse.
> 
> As for what Angrboda says about babies, it's all true even if they're cute and snuggly and stuff.

Natasha hesitated at the end of the path, reluctant to take the final step into the Bronx. The days with Svaðilfari had been subtle, hushed – a stolen moment of peace. She felt an ache in her ribs, sharp as the time she had been shot in Buenos Aires. "Okay, Romanoff," she muttered. "Time to rescue Barton from the cat and find out what the hell is going on in Asgard."

The final paving stone of the path wobbled underfoot. She was used to it by this time, as well as the fuzzy feeling accompanying the change between worlds. Mind made up, Natasha stepped forward into velvet, icy darkness. Probably it was the middle of the night at the Botanical Gardens.

She pulled out her phone and tapped the screen, but it didn't work. "Dumb overgrown Chiclet. Really?" She had charged up the thing before she left and packed a battery booster since Alfheim (and Asgard, for that matter) had a serious lack of outlets. There was no reason not to be able to access the flashlight app. Ahead in the darkness a group of lights wavered. Natasha narrowed her eyes and saw they were moving in her direction at the rate of 18 mph. She twisted to duck behind a flowered hedge, but it was no longer there.

The room was empty – in fact, it wasn't a room at all. Natasha stood in some rock-lined cavern in the utter dark, facing an oncoming group of…  _candles?_  Since when did New York guards carry candles?

One quick look showed her there was no return to Alfheim. The way behind her was just as stark and black.

Knees bent, Natasha felt her body go into autopilot. Her widow's line was ready in her belt, prepared to wrap around an attacker's neck. She shook her boot so the blade in the left heel shot out. Natasha couldn't help grinning as her moves followed like a smooth succession of dominos. Alfheim was peace and magic, but she was born for this.

The points of light flashed, and she heard a smothered gasp. "You…"

It was the voice she never wanted to hear again. "What the fuck?" Rage like a scorpion's sting seared her throat as the useless phone slipped through her fingers. "What kind of stupid trick…"

Another light flared up to reveal the blue skin and coiled snakes of hair around his pale, strong neck. Loki stood in the passage, flanked by a garrison of Jotnar soldiers. "Drain every drop of my blood later if you must, but if you ever felt anything for me at all, come with me now."

Natasha strode forward, itching to punch his handsome face. "You don't have the right to look at me, let alone talk…"

"Angrboda is dying."

The second interruption made her freeze. "What?"

"She lies in childbirth, this very moment, and has grave need of my magic. And I need you to help her. Natasha," Loki added. "Natasha."

A woman lay above them in the dark tower, screaming with agony. "Oh, hell with it," Natasha swore. "Show me."

* * *

 

Loki had spent countless hours longing for his firebird to return, but none of his fantasies included a child-birthing bed. He and Natasha stood next to Boda's pale form as the queen twisted in pain, shouted, and doubled up again with some unknown rigors inside her.

"How often is she doing this?" Natasha snapped the question at one of the midwives.

"The times increase at a rapid pace." The midwife's red gaze flickered over Natasha's body with contempt. "Your Midgard knowledge has no bearing here in the royal birthing bed."

"Treat the agent with respect," Loki growled, "or I'll have your skull as goblet for my gløgg this very night."

"Fuck respect. Where are the damn scrolls?" Without looking at him, Natasha flung out one arm, reaching for the magic she knew he had stolen.

There was no time for his usual injured innocents, the flow of silver from his tongue. In silence Loki handed her an armful of parchment, and Natasha dumped them on the bed, right beside the pillows where Boda still writhed in pain. "Okay. I can see a flash here, and – oh, yes. This one." Quickly she selected a few rolls and held them up. "Give me your hand, Loki."

Their fingers intertwined, but the magic was gone. The situation was so desperate – his wife and children in the balance – for once in his life, Loki felt no desire or lust within him. "Come on," Natasha urged. "Find the threads of the…I don't know, seed or whatever it's called."

On the bed, Boda suddenly stopped in the middle of a howl and flopped back on the mattress. Her mouth still open, a long breath expelled with the rattle of a draugr slaughtered in the hunt. "No!" Loki shouted.

"No," Natasha echoed. "Angrboda, hang on. No no no. We are  _not_  doing this today. Not today." She leaned forward, framed Boda's face, and fastened her mouth to the Queen's. Before Loki could move, Natasha blew into Boda's lungs and pressed on her chest.

"What quackery is this?" The head midwife looked appalled. "Ignorant aliens do not have the right to touch the Queen…!"

"Make one move towards them and I'll carve each limb from your trunk while you watch." Loki waved at the group of horrified courtiers. "All of you, clear out and leave the queen to me."

"Majesty…"

"Now!" He felt his head would split open with the force of his fury.

Muttering, the midwife moved to the door. Dimly Loki heard it creak open. In front of him Angrboda was sliding through his fingers, and with her his children. And the throne.

"Natasha." The lilting voice brought him out of his stupor. Loki looked up and saw Amora, graceful and lovely as always, come into the room. She was followed by her bedmate, the other golden-haired Aesir. Sif. Apparently they had settled their quarrel.

None of it made any difference to him. "Get out," he spat. "My wife is dying, maybe dead." At his words, Sif's lip curled.

"She will certainly die if I do not help you." Amora ignored him and reached the other side of the bed. "However, if she does and takes the life in her womb with her, the force connecting the nine realms will expire. I will not let this happen. For some reason, your children hold the key to the force that holds the limbs of the sacred tree in place."

Loki didn't know what he said in return. Never had he experienced such anger, such hatred. Amora's face seemed to swim like a beautiful vision in front of his eyes, and he wanted to strike her. He knew he screamed curses and threats with no way of stopping himself.

"Just shut the fuck up."

Natasha's calm words made him stop. He panted as he looked at Angrboda in her arms, both of them bathed in firelight from the immense hearth. "What?"

She ignored him. "Amora, anything you can give me would be a big help. This asshole and I already tried our little magic party trick, and it didn't work. What now?"

"It will work, but you are doing it wrong. Like the Norns, you must plaee yourselves in the correct positions."

"Positions," Loki scoffed. "None of this makes any sense." He bit his tongue when Natasha plucked a knife from one sleeve and, with a lithe twist, held it to his neck.

"One more word, and  _your_  skull is going to be my beer glass at the bar tonight. We're going to do what Amora tells us to the letter, and the last thing I need is your lip. Got it?"

Her eyes were very direct, very steady. He had forgotten their green depths, clear as water in a Jotnar pool during the springs. "Yes, Firebird," he murmured. "Got it."

"Get behind her," Amora stated. "No, not her," she added as he slipped behind Natasha, so close the red curls brushed his chest. "Get on the bed and sit behind Angrboda so you support the queen. Natasha, on my mark you will straddle the queen's legs and face your lover, so Angrboda is between you."

Natasha caught his eye and jerked her neck at the bed. With a frown Loki crawled onto the rumpled furs and wedged himself between Boda's slumping form and the ornate marble of the headboard. Amora barked out a word, and Natasha joined him where he held the body of his wife.

Everything clicked into place when Natasha settled herself. The magic they had sought sparked, and Loki felt it caress the cheeks, the neck, the belly of the queen between them.

"Good." Amora pursed her lips and let out a breath. "Now I just need the correct words, but…"

"That's on me. Hold up the damn scrolls." Natasha waited as Amora thrust the bundle into her arms, and she nodded. "Oh, yes, it's on fire. Do you see it, Loki? It's so bright!"

The corresponding runes crawled like living coals on the page, hurting his eyes with the seidr. "I see it," he panted. "Give me your hand."

Instead she caught Boda's palm and held it up. He understood and pressed his thumb to the flesh so the queen's fingers were sandwiched between them. Did he imagine it, or was there a twitch of life?

"Tell her." Amora still stood by the bed. Next to her Sif waited. They were very alike, two golden Valkyries filled with strength and warlust.

"You are my center." Loki felt the words ripped from his heart as they passed through Boda to caress Natasha.

"Tell him," Amora directed. "Now, Natasha."

The fiery little warrior mumbled something, but he knew – yes, he knew. He felt her fierce intelligence, the determined independence of the woman he loved. Between them, Angrboda stirred, and the movement made both of his hearts leap.

"It's working," Amora whispered. "Natasha, get ready."

"Oh, my God." Natasha shook her head. "Do I have to…"

"Stay while the queen gives birth?" Amora nodded. "I'm so sorry, but yes. You do."

Carefully Loki extended his touch so he lapped the wrists of his wife and his lover. "I'll stay as well," he vowed.

* * *

 

When he awoke in his own chamber, Loki blinked. For a moment he couldn't recall what had happened. Reality rushed over him like thawing ice, and he bellowed for an attendant.

"Majesty," the girl whispered as she appeared with his furs and the heavy links Jotnar rulers wore around their necks.

Loki ignored the clothes. "My wife," he demanded.

The attendant's expression cleared. "The queen sleeps. And, if I may say so, the children sleep as well. Three of them, Majesty. Such a thing has never happened in Jotunheim before. The people wait for you to speak to them, and…"

Impatiently Loki waved her away and jumped up to dress himself. He strode to the hall, pushed away several courtiers who jumped up and gabbled congratulations, and went to the queen's chamber. "Out," he said as soon as he saw the midwife bent over the bed.

"Ah, it's my charming husband." Angrboda's whisper was a thread of her usual mockery.

Loki fell on the bed and clutched her heavy, comforting weight closely and burrowing into the warmth of her neck. "It's my prickly wife."

"Your hungry wife. Get me some food." She pushed him off with her fists and, when he had slid to the edge of the furs, her sharp heels at the small of his back. "Go on. Lots of cheese, and some of the biscuits I like, and wine."

"No wine." Amora entered the room carrying a bowl covered with a towel. "No biscuits either, although I suppose you may have bread and milk."

"Yuck. Swill."

Loki forgot to be amused. A terrible thought seared him, and he rounded on Amora. "Natasha. Has she gone? By the Norns, I'll kill the first guard who lets her return to her world without my permission."

Angrboda heaved up on the pillows, wincing. "Have you learned nothing? Your lover wants freedom more than anything else. You can offer her chains of gold and flame-gems, the crown itself if you wish, and she'll refuse them all just to come and go as she pleases."

He slumped on the edge of the bed and examined his nails. "You are harsh, Boda. But. Yes. In truth I – it is where I went wrong, right from the beginning. I stole the thing she valued most before we ever knew each other."

"Humph." Amora leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. "This is a confession I hardly expected from you."

The door opened again, and Loki felt as though his hearts would choke him. Was it Natasha coming to say goodbye? However, an unknown female appeared in the room: an Aesir with long, black hair. He frowned. Perhaps he knew her, although he really didn't care.

"Sif!" Amora darted forward. "What – did someone spill a bucket of ink on your head?"

Lady Sif lifted her chin. "Last night I promised the gods all the gold of my hair if they spared the queen's life. It appears they heard my prayer."

"You-" Amora sprang at her and pulled Sif close. The enchantress's hands ran down Sif's back. "So brave. I don't deserve you. And I - ooh. I like the black hair." She bit her lip and twisted a long strand around one knuckle.

Angrboda laughed. "Tumble each other in your furs, not in my room. I still wait for the cheese and ale you promised me."

"Bread and milk," Amora insisted. She stepped away from Sif and grinned. "I don't suppose anyone has remembered there are three new lives in this godforsaken tower?"

"Ugh. Babies. Which means lots and lots of drool, piss, and shit." Angrboda pulled a face. "Thank heavens we have wet-nurses, husband, or I might go mad."

* * *

 

Natasha found the room without much trouble. It called to her blood and bones, offering a way back to Asgard and, with a little help from Thor, to Manhattan and Liho. Under her touch the stones of the wall yielded their secret: a hidden passage between Jotunheim and the golden realm.

She found the lintel and pressed the carving of the dragon. With a harsh grating sound, the stones slid back to reveal the dark passage.

"It was how I first found you."

Of course he knew what she planned. Natasha turned to see Loki in full blue-and-fur of his Jotnar form, eyes red with passion. "I'm going whether you say so or not," she declared.

"Natasha." Loki held out a box. "This is for you. This box contains the scroll you held when you first came to me."

Composing her face to hide all traces of surprise, Natasha took the tiny casket. It was beautifully made, and the star on the top hid its opening. Carefully she slid back the sides to reveal the parchment within.

"I have added a few lines of runic script – something for you and me. Not for anyone else."

Natasha closed the box and held it in her fist. "What is this?"

"Freedom. You can travel here if you wish. Amora showed me her latest creation – a tree connecting all the realms. I've given you the key to travel between them, if you ever wish."

She didn't move. " _All_  the realms?"

"Yes. Including…" His voice dropped. "Including Alfheim."

Tipping her head back, she watched him carefully. "I'm fucking Svaðilfari, just so you know. And I don't intend to stop."

The red eyes closed. "I know. You can use it to visit him."

"Is that what you want?"

His lips peeled back to reveal the white, even teeth as he grasped her arms and yanked her flush with his bare chest. "No, it is not what I want, as you know very well. I want you in my bed this night and every night, but I have learned… I have learned if I grasp a firebird, I will get burned. Better she comes to me of her own free will."

Her lips twitched, and something like relief gleamed in his eyes. "I liked the skiing," Natasha admitted.

Loki grinned, a depraved smile of lust. "I enjoyed that too, little bird."

She wasn't about to give in, not after all he had done to her. Still, Loki had offered a part of himself he probably never even knew existed. Natasha cupped his chin, pulled him down, and slotted her mouth to his. His lips parted and she felt the heady, intoxicating sweep of his tongue on hers. She allowed him a few moments of breathless, licking pleasure before she pushed him away. "You have a family to take care of," Natasha said. His face darkened, and she waved the box under his nose. "However, when the time is right I'll see if your runic spells do what you say they do."

"I was always a bright student when it came to inscriptions." His whisper, broken and filled with tears, rustled among her curls.

"Good." Natasha broke free and backed into the dark space. She was curious to see how the path worked. Loki, ringed with the stern stones like a portrait, raised one hand in farewell.

The spell was safe within her grasp inside the little box he had given her. Resolutely Natasha faced the darkness to begin the long trip back to another world.

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for your patience and for reading. As I've said before, you bring the magic.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the-coldness-from-within for being my muse, and to bodee-nyx for the image and permission to use it in any form as a cover for this fiction. Thanks also to my readers - you are always magical.


End file.
